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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 








THE 


ROMANCE OF THE SWORD 


a IRapoIeonic IRovel 



GEORGES DUVAL 


TRANSLATED BY MARY J. SAFFORD 



NEW YORK 

THE MEEEIAM COMPANY 

67 Fifth Avenue 



Copyright, 1895, 

BY 

THE MERRIAM COMPANY. 







CONTENTS. 


' PROLOGUE. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — The “ White Heron” Tavern, 5 

II. — In which Count d’Availlac maintains traditions, 17 

III. — Unexpected aid, 24 

IV. — For the King ! For France ! 29 

V. — The Oath, ' , , 41 

VI. — A Recruit, . 49 

VII. — The Capture of Toulon, 63 

VIII. — Bourbons and Bonaparte, 72 

PART FIRST. 

THE BETROTHAL GIFT. 

I. — The Restaurant of the Three Mile-Stones, . . 78 

II. — The Black Cross, 93 

III. — A Visit from Pichegru, 103 

IV. — A Dinner-party, 109 

V. — Our Lady of Thermidor, 118 

VI. — Charlotte and Robert, 135 

VII.— The Lion in Love 147 

VIII. — Republicans and Sectionists, 159 

IX. — In which Caligula is captain and Pichoux watchman, 168 

X. — The 13th Vendemiaire, 176 

XI. — Debtor and Creditor, 181 

XII.— At the Home of Barras, 187 

XHI. — In which General Bonaparte makes Madame Pichoux 

weep, 193 

XIV.— The Sacrifice 202 

XV. — What Josephine Bonaparte did not expect to find in 

the basket containing her wedding gifts, . . 208 

PART SECOND. 

TREASON. 

I.— Story of an act of treason, 214 

II. — In which Pichoux commits a folly, his wife a reck- 
less act, Caligula takes a journey, and Charlotte 
makes a mayonnaise, 220 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

III. — Citizeness Bonaparte, 229 

IV. — The interrupted dance, 237 

V. — The Festival of Victory, 245 

VI.— At Venice, 255 

VII.— In which Madame Pichoux’s curiosity serves to reveal 

an act of treason, 265 

VIII.— “Scripta manent,” 275 

IX.— Grandfather and Grandson, 284 

X. — The price of a jewel, . . . . . 292 

XI. — In which love again conquers a hero, . . . 300 

PART THIRD. 

THE AFFAIR IN THE RUE SAINT-NICAISE. 

I. — The passing years, 306 

II. — The Monkey’s Tavern, . ^ 313 

III. — In which love flutters its wings 324 

IV. — In which Saint-Rejant revealed his plans, . . 332 

V.— First performance of Haydn’s “Creation,” . . 338 

VI. — Bonaparte and Fouche, 343 

VII. — Kerouan’s disclosures, 352 

PART FOURTH. 

THE DUKE D’ENGHIEN. 

I. — In which Monsieur de Talleyrand appears on the 

scene, 361 

II. — Ettenheim, 369 

HI.— The Arrest, 377 

IV. — The Talisman, 389 

V. — Samuel the Jew and Consul Bonaparte, . . 400 

VI. -A Forced Play 413 

VIL— IntheFog, 421 

VIH. — What happened at the same time at Vincennes and 

Malmaison, 430 

IX. — In the Devil’s Tower, 441 

X. — The Execution, 450 

XI. — Emperor, 455 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


PEOLOGTJE. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE “white heron” TAVERN. 

In the year 1793 London presented a peculiar aspect, 
which has been noted by the historians of the period. 

The son of Chatham, who had become the soul of the 
Coalition, stimulating the Continental Powers to over- 
throw the Revolution, was arming troops in all quarters. 

Around his forces gathered the French emigrants; 
first those who, denying Louis XVI. and the States 
General the right of modifying the exercise of the 
Royal power and restricting the privileges of the nobility 
and the clergy, would not even witness what they 
termed the audacious revolutionary usurpations, and 
during 1789, 1790, and 1791 went to solicit the interven- 
tion of neighboring powers; secondly, the laggards — 
Royalists who having remained in Prance so long as the 
throne of Louis XVI. existed, had crossed the frontier 
only to escape the threats and the blows of the conven- 
tional dictatorship. 

London, thus rendered the centre of military activity 
and politics shaped to suit the circumstances, felt the 
effects upon its customs, but found no cause for com- 

5 


6 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


plaint, every change being but another opportunity for 
making money. In fact, notwithstanding the Income 
Tax, the city had never experienced so great an increase 
in its receipts, nor the workman such regularity in the 
payment of his wages. Never had the shops had so 
many customers, or the shopkeepers realized such hand- 
some profits. 

Among those who had most cause to congratulate 
themselves upon this new state of affairs were the 
tavern-keepers and the usurers — the former by specu- 
lating in the liquor furnished to the daily contingent of 
recruits ; the latter in the presence of young Frenchmen 
accustomed to luxury and pleasure who, in the haste of 
departure, had not been able to provide themselves with 
sufficient sums. 

Several of the taverns which were most famous at 
that time existed a few years ago. 

Some of us have seen the Blue Crown, where Thomas 
Brown, the famous engraver on stone, performed his 
exploits. Above the bar hung his faded portrait, whose 
only remaining portions were his deep yellow vest, 
rumpled shirt-front, red nose, and top-boots, made 
just like those of his political idol. Fox. Here, 
besides Thomas Brown, the leaders of the party 
met every evening — Cobbett, Hunt, Sir Francis 
Burdett, Bentham — and here the militia-men were 
enlisted. 

The writer of these lines spent two months in the city 
below the Zodiac tavern, where Ugo Foscolo, who, dur- 
ing the Revolution, played in London the part which 
Lord Byron performed in Italy, wrote the tragedy of 
“Ajax,” an allegorical composition, in which Ajax be- 
came General Moreau and Agamemnon Bonaparte. 


THE “white heron” TAVERN. 


7 


The Zodiac, for ten years, was the meeting-place of the 
Scotch volunteers. 

The improvement of the Strand caused the destruc- 
tion of the tavern of the Four Thieves, the favorite 
meeting-place of the Chouans, when they crossed the 
Channel to carry on their plotting more easily. But at 
the present day one can seat one’s self two steps from 
the Lyceum Theatre in the White Heron, which has 
continued to be sufficiently well known because the 
English aristocracy, who are fond of maintaining old 
customs, do not disdain to stop there in remembrance of 
the breakfast which George III. once ate under its roof. 

Another reason that the tavern-keeper prospered as 
well as the pawnbroker is that the tavern-keeper and 
the money-lender were usually one and the same person. 
The pale ale was the pretext, and the note the actual 
merchandise — without taking into account the whiskey 
and the brandy, whose effects, by rendering fhe borrower 
more eager, permitted the trader in gold to be more 
exacting. 

This was the case at the Blue Crown, the Zodiac, the 
Four Thieves, and the White Heron. The fame of the 
latter, however, far surpassed that of the others; the 
principal reasons were these : 

The White Heron had been built in the style of the 
taverns of the sixteenth century, a period when Lon- 
don, whose houses were built of wood, presented a curi- 
ous mixture of Italian and Gothic architecture. It was 
a large house, with a peaked roof, each story of which, 
encroaching upon the lower one, thrust into the street 
its joists ornamented with huge masks, its long carved 
water-spouts, and its Gothic gloom. The entrance was 
through a small door, above which hung, creaking, an 


8 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


iron sign bearing a painting of a white heron trying to 
catch a frog in the bottom of a bottle of gin. Having 
crossed the threshold, one entered a large room furnished 
with movable oak tables- and stools. Around the walls 
bottles and glasses glittered in the rays of ten lights, an 
unusual luxury. 

The imagination might conjure up soldiers in brown 
cloaks, servants in blue liveries, apprentices in flat caps, 
discharged troopers, policemen in tanned-leather man- 
tles, cavaliers with spurs four inches long — the cavaliers 
who, in the sixteenth century, quarrelled for seats at 
the Globe Theatre when “ Hamlet” was played . Their 
places were filled by officers in red cloaks, who desired 
to earn a title to the gratitude of Pitt by fighting less 
for their country than for his ideas ; young emigrants, 
dressed in coats cut in the French fashion, eager to get 
news from Paris, Normandy, Brittany, or la Vendee, 
and trying to forget for a few hours, under the influence 
of beer or alcohol, the hardships of exile and the threats 
of the future. 

Such customers became an easy prey to the landlord 
of the White Heron, the Jew Samuel. One should 
have seen the zeal with which he urged on the four em- 
ployees who brought up the wine and filled the glasses, 
the skill with which, at the height of the bustle, he 
glided into the midst of the French revellers, questioned 
them about their situation, and answered their requests 
when the offer of service did not proceed from him. 
After the loan was promised, he beckoned to his victim 
to follow him, and, after telling him to say nothing to 
the others, led him out of the room into an office sepa- 
rated from the drinkers by a little courtyard, where the 
discussion was commenced in earnest. Need I add that 


THE “white heron” TAVERN. 


9 


Samuel always gained the advantage? In spite of the 
fabulist, necessity is not even ingenious. 

Finally the host of the White Heron had a third 
string to his bow. 

He played the spy for the benefit of the Convention. 

But, let me hasten to add in his favor, he did this 
work gratuitously. 

Samuel, who was a native of France, had seen his 
family suffer from the obloquy with which the Jews 
were so long loaded, and had retained a deep hatred for 
his persecutors, personified in the nobility and the 
clergy. 

The day that the Constituent Assembly gave to the 
Jews the rights of citizenship Samuel was won over to 
the Revolution. He sought the men who had liberated 
him and his race, expressed his gratitude and, in return, 
offered to place at their disposal the information which 
he could gather in London. 

“ I ask no other recompense for my services,” he said, 
“ than the satisfaction of preventing the return of our 
tormentors.” 

The proposal was accepted, and the compact made. 

To-day the White Heron was crowded with people. 
News had just come from the Vosges, where the priests 
and nobles maintained great influence. It was said 
that the nobles of Alsace had determined to follow 
Wurmser’s army, and had spread from Wissembourg to 
the environs of Strasburg ; it was rumored that Hoche 
would march on Besangon. Some were making pre- 
dictions ; others, with a chart before them, were discuss- 
ing the operations. Samuel was listening, unable to 
conceal a smile of gratification whenever a victory of 
the revolutionary forces was mentioned. 


10 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


When night began to close in, the conversation grew 
more animated. A group composed of four emigrants 
and two English officers made the loudest uproar. The 
Frenchmen affirmed that, by marching on the Meuse, 
Dumouriez might have defeated Clairfayt; the officers 
bellowed that Clairfayt was invincible. 

Farther on, three abbes, with noses redder than a car- 
dinal’s robe, were disputing about the system of defence 
adopted by Malesherbes in the trial of Louis XVI. — not 
that they doubted the result, for they were sure that 
even the Jacobins would not dare to condemn the king, 
but from love of method and argument. The youngest 
thought it ridiculous that people should trouble them- 
selves about principles of law before incompetent judges ; 
the next to the eldest considered it humiliating that facts 
ascribed by adventurers to a royal lady should be brought 
up; the oldest, who was evidently more intoxicated than 
the two others, was weeping for regret that he was not 
a soldier, which he would have been but for the 
meagreness of military fare. 

His sobs — for certain drams of whiskey elicited sobs — 
provoked shouts of laughter from two farmers-general 
who, during the past fortnight, had been urged by their 
vanity to vie with a couple of Irish sailors famed for 
the capacity of their stomachs. 

Here and there were heard songs, oaths, snatches of 
the Marseillaise to the tune of a jig, imprecations 
against Robespierre produced by the imagination of 
William Lee, an Oxford poetaster, who for a few pence 
would caricature his man. And watching the whole 
scene amid a cloud of smoke and dust was Samuel, his 
hair as gray and closely curled as the wool of a Kent 
sheep; his little gray eyes sparkling with malice; his 


THE “white HEROK” TAYERH. 


11 


hooked nose projecting over a long white beard; Sam- 
uel, impatiently twitching his long brown overcoat 
when the waiters were not quick enough, or unbutton- 
ing and rebuttoning it, according to his habit, before 
beginning to bargain with a customer. 

The clock in the Chapel of the Evangelists struck 
eleven, and the guests rose, left the taproom, and 
dispersed. 

Samuel attended to the closing of the tavern and then 
went to his own chamber. 

Fifteen minutes after, the knocker rapped three 
times. 

Samuel took a lantern and went to the door. 

“ Who is there?” 

“ Open.” 

“ Why?” 

“ A French gentleman, in need of money, would like 
to talk with you.” 

“At this hour?” 

“ He has chosen it lest he should be recognized.” 

“ Very well; I’ll open the door.” 

The key turned twice in the lock. 

“ Follow me.” 

The stranger entered the tavern, crossed a courtyard 
and went into the office, where Samuel scanned the 
visitor. 

He was a man of good height, whose unusual spare- 
ness was redeemed by his perfect grace of carriage. 
The face, aristocratically small, was animated by very 
penetrating eyes; the lines around the mouth showed 
repressed arrogance. He did not remove his hat, and 
a dark cloak concealed his dress. 

Wearied by so long a scrutiny and disturbed by a 


12 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWO^RD. 

gesture of surprise from Samuel, the newcomer, in his 
turn, scrutinized the Jew. 

The latter resolved to break the silence. 

“ May I know to whom I have the honor of speaking?” 

“ The Count de Miremont. ” 

“ Ah !” said Samuel, stroking his beard. 

“ I have come on somewhat delicate business.” 

“A loan?” 

“ Upon a pledge.” 

“ Can I see it?” 

Count de Miremont hesitated an instant, half-opened 
his cloak, and drew out a long package carefully 
wrapped. 

Samuel took off the covering and saw a sword, which 
he examined slowly, like a man who cares more for the 
material worth of an article than its artistic value. 

Yet it was a superb weapon. On the blade were the 
words, “ Given hy God for the King,^^ and in the hilt 
was set a diamond of remarkable size and flawless 
brilliancy. 

While Samuel was turning the weapon in his hands 
his visitor’s face changed singularly, expressing by 
turns humiliation and rage. When Samuel read the 
inscription a second time, the count could not repress a 
gesture of impatience. 

“Well? What sum will you advance upon it?” 

The Jew returned the sword without averting his eyes 
from the weapon. 

“Fifty thousand francs.” 

“The diamond is worth three hundred thousand.” 

“You want ” 

“Twice what you offer.” 

“ A hundred thousand ! Impossible.” 


THE “white heron” TAVERN. 


13 


“Why?” 

“Because I haven’t them.” 

“ It is said that you possess millions.” 

“People exaggerate. For more than six months I 
have bled at every vein to oblige my countrymen. If 
his Majesty King Louis XVI. does net reconquer his 
throne, I shall be a ruined man, utterly ruined. It will 
not be the first time that the French nobility has beg- 
gared a child of Moses,” he added, looking his visitor 
fixedly in the eyes. “ But at least, so far as I am con- 
cerned, this would be the last — I shouldn’t have a penny 
left. Allow me to look at the sword again.” 

Samuel examined it a second time. 

“ The diamond is evidently a fine one. Seventy-five 
thousand francs?” 

“A hundred thousand.” 

“A hundred thousand, then, on one condition.” 

“ What is it?” 

“ You must give me a letter worded : ‘To-day, Janu- 
ary 26th, 1793, at ten minutes before midnight, I 
acknowledge having received from Monsieur Samuel 
the sum of one hundred and fifty thousand francs, in 
exchange for a sword (whose description will follow), 
which sword will become the property of the aforesaid 
Samuel if the hundred and fifty thousand francs are 
not returned to him on the 28th of January, 1793, be- 
fore midnight. ’ ” 

“That is, in forty-eight hours?” 

“With ten minutes’ grace.” 

“ Agreed.” 

“Write the letter, then.” 

The stranger again hesitated, while Samuel placed on 
a table ink, pen, and paper. 


14 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“Everything is ready, sir; you have only to sit 
down.” 

The visitor still delayed. After a visible struggle, he 
made up his mind and began to write at the dictation 
of Samuel, who meanwhile carefully locked up the 
sword in a chest. 

When the contract was written, Samuel read it 
attentively. 

“ Is anything lacking?” 

“ Only the most important part.” 

“What is that?” 

“Your signature.” 

“ It is there in full.” 

Samuel planted himself in front of him and, striving 
to straighten his figure to the same height, said : 

“ Monseigneur ” 

“Monseigneur!” interrupted the stranger, whose 
face was overspread by a livid pallor. “ Why do you 
use that title?” 

“You shall know,” replied Samuel. “Monseigneur, 
a few years ago, we were forbidden to weep over 
the ruins of Jerusalem. We were sold like beasts 
at the fair. In some cities we were forced to pay for 
the air we breathed, a florin per day, a ducat per hour. 
From Palm Sunday morning until Easter, we were 
forbidden to show ourselves. Every public officer 
could legally, according to judicial decrees, use insult- 
ing epithets to us. A Jew was compelled to pay for 
toll 12 deniers; a Jewess who was about to become a 
mother, 9; any other Jewess, 6; a dead Jew, 5 sols; a 
dead Jewess, 50 deniers, and a pig, 1 sol. In France, 
the responsibility for this rested with the Bourbons. Do 
you wish proofs? No. You know your own history.” 


THE ‘‘white HEROK” TAVERH. 


15 


“ What are you aiming at?” 

“You shall know. In 1784, the Alsatian subjects of 
King Louis XVI., who owed the Jews millions, in- 
vented receipts written in the Hebrew language. They 
had found nothing better to pay their debts. A depu- 
tation, to which I belonged, went to the King and ex- 
plained the situation. The King had his two brothers 
with him that day ; he drove us from his presence, and 
his brothers smiled with an expression !■ shall never 
forget. Do you begin to understand? I left the King 
with my heart filled with implacable hatred, not for him 
alone, but for all who were his friends, and I prayed to 
God for vengeance. God heard me, since it has come. 
Monseigneur, and a terrible one! I have the right to 
say: In signing that paper ‘Count de Miremont,’ the 
Count d’ Artois committed a forgery.” 

“Scoundrel!” cried Count d ’Artois, sinking into a 
chair. 

“Ah, no, Monseigneur! The scoundrel is not I, who 
might keep both your sword and my money, and who 
will not do so, because, spite of my hatred, I am honest 
in business affairs. Here are the 100,000 francs.” 

Then, while Count d’Artois took them with a trem- 
bling hand, Samuel added : 

“The scoundrel is not the Jew who, in forty-eight 
hours, when you return the one hundred and fifty thou- 
sand francs, might answer: ‘Keep them, I will keep 
the pledge, which is worth double,’ and who will not 
do so, because, however great may be the insults he has 
to revenge, he possesses the honesty of usury. The 
scoundrel is the grandson of Saint Louis, who becomes 
a forger and, a second Judas, barters his sword for 
thirty pieces of silver.” 


16 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Count d ’Artois sprang to his feet under the lash of 
this last insult. , 

Samuel took up his lantern, saying ceremoniously : 

The business is settled, Monsieur de Miremont, and 
it is growing late.” 

Count d’ Artois followed Samuel, who opened the 
door and, bowing, said : 

“Be on your guard. The streets are not very safe.” 

The brother of Louis XVI., making no reply, vanished 
in the darkness. 


CHAPTER II. 


IN WHICH COUNT d’AVAILLAC MAINTAINS TRA- 
DITIONS. 

The following morning Count d’Artois sat before 
the fire, absorbed in thought. 

The apartment was a large study in a mansion near 
Hyde Park. Low bookcases — above which hung two 
portraits, those of Henry IV. and the King of England 
— surrounded the four walls. 

He was still pondering, when the entrance of his 
secretary roused him as if from a dream. 

“What is it?” 

“Monseigneur, M. d’Availlac, with several of his 
partisans, requests an interview.” Count d’Artois made 
a gesture of annoyance, but instantly controlled himself. 

“Show them in,” he said, and Messieurs d’Availlac, 
d’Entraigues, de Chatillon, Bourmont, d’Antichamp, 
and d’Espomelles were ushered in. 

Count d’Artois motioned to them to be seated, and 
invited Monsieur d’Availlac to be spokesman. 

“ Have you any news from Monsieur de Flermont, 
Monseigneur?” d’Availlac began. 

“I am expecting him to-da}^, if God has permitted 
him to succeed in his dangerous enterprise: to cross 
France, reach the King, who is a prisoner in the Tem- 
ple, recross France and return here !” 

“ Mon seigneur,” Count d’Availlac continued, “your 
2 17 


18 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


partisans, of whom I am one, believe that we are losing 
time, and that the hour for action has arrived. Our 
news from France makes the situation clear. The 
parties are measuring their forces. On one side are the 
Girondists, accused of royalism, on the other the Jaco- 
bins, howling at the monarchy like hounds scenting the 
quarry, to say nothing of the perpetual conflict between 
the ideas of the Constituent Assembly and those of the 
Convention. One bold stroke and we shall descend 
upon France, create for ourselves a pathway through 
the midst of the struggles and dissensions, rescue the 
King, and consolidate forever the adherents of the royal 
banner. Am I not right, gentlemen?” 

All nodded assent. 

Count d ’Artois hesitated. 

“ I expected nothing less from your fidelity and cour- 
age, and I thank you for the proposal. But what forces 
are at your command?” 

‘‘Mon seigneur, there are twenty-five thousand emi- 
grants here ready to die for our cause. At Ham, 
Monsieur has more than a hundred leaders, to whom the 
insurgents of Lyons and the South have offered troops. 
We have the army of Conde. We have the partisans 
in France, who only await a signal to join us. We 
have our agencies, which have hitherto escaped the vigi- 
lance of the Convention authorities, and we hold in re- 
serve warm hearts and strong arms. Lastly, we have 
the Ven deans and Bretons.” 

“Who represent them?” 

“ Monseigneur, a deputation of some of their leaders 
arrived this morning from Brest and accompanied us 
here. Admit them, and you will be ” 

Count d’Artois looked troubled. 


COUNT d’AVAILLAC MAINTAINS TKADITIONS. 19 

D’Availlac’s persistence disturbed him the more the 
more plainly he perceived the difficulty of remaining 
deaf to it. 

Touching a bell, he said to his secretary : 

“Introduce the deputation of the Vendeans and 
Bretons.” 

Four men appeared, dressed in their holiday costume. 

“Your names, gentlemen?” asked Count d’Artois. 

“ Picot-Lemoelan, Coster Saint-Victor, Joyau, Car- 
bon, surnamed Petit-F7'angois” they answered in 
turn. 

“ Monsieur Picot-Lemoelan, I will hear you.” 

“Monseigneur,” said the Breton, in stentorian tones, 
“ upon both banks of the Loire, in Brittany and the en- 
virons of Rennes, in Anjou, Upper and Lower Poitou, 
fifty thousand men, resolved on death, await the signal 
from you to march upon Paris. Cathelineau has already 
entered Cholet, seized arms enough to equip five thou- 
sand men, and made cartridges from the cartridges of 
cannon. In Bocage, Monsieur de la Rochejaquelein 
commands troops thrice blessed by our bishop. Cha- 
rette is at the head of the army of the Marais, and has 
a chaplet blessed by the Pope. Here is more than is 
necessary to conquer the armies of the Republic— es- 
pecially with the aid of the Virgin.” 

Count d’Artois looked still more troubled. 

“And who would command the expedition?” 

“Should not you be our leader, Monseigneur?” re- 
plied d’Availlac. 

“I? And why, if you please? Am I the elder? Is 
not Monsieur at Ham claiming his rights incessantly 
and so loudly that it might well occasion strife between 
us. Since he desires the honor, is it not just that he 


20 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


should brave the danger? Besides, do you not exagger- 
ate the situation? The King is not yet sentenced. 
Malesherbes, Tronchet, and de Seze will maintain his 
inviolability. They will victoriously refute the charge 
of having shed French blood on the 10th of August by 
proving that the real aggressor was the people. Finally, 
if the King must become the victim of his judges, his 
banishment would bring him back among us, and then, 
with a dethroned sovereign for our leader, we should 
have a better chance of victory.” 

“Monseigneur is deluding himself,” a voice mur- 
mured. “King Louis XVI. is dead.” 

Every one turned toward the newcomer. 

“Flermont!” cried Count d’Artois. “What are you 
saying? My brother ” 

“ Died by the guillotine. Monseigneur. Your brother’s 
head fell under the knife of his executioners the very 
day I reached Paris.” 

The noblemen made the sign of the cross; the Ven- 
deans and Bretons threw themselves on their knees. 

“Dead!” repeated Count d’Artois. “Dead! Like 
Charles I.? No! Charles had the honor of the axe. 
Dead by the guillotine !” 

A long silence followed. 

All eyes were fixed upon Count d’Artois, who was 
lost in thought. 

Spite of the grief which the news occasioned, they 
cherished the hope that the king’s assassination would 
rouse his brother to plans for vengeance and end an in- 
decision which made them blush for him. 

Suddenly Count d’Artois raised his head. 

“ What is it?” 

The secretary had just entered. 


COUNT d’availlac maintains teaditions. 21 

“A message from Toulon, Monseigneur.” 

Seizing the note, he read its contents and exclaimed : 
“ Gentlemen, the plans of Providence are inscrutable. 
The King is dead, but Toulon is in the hands of the 
English.” 

“ At last !” cried his partisans. 

“Toulon captured by the English!” murmured 
d’Availlac. 

“ The news is explicit^ ” Count d’ Artois sLdded. 

“Toulon captured by the English,” d’Availlac re- 
peated, “means France in the power of the foreigner.” 

“ It is a dagger in the heart of the Republic !” said 
Monsieur de Bourmont. 

“It is opening the road to return to Paris!” cried 
d ’Antichamp. 

“ It is the throne of the Bourbons regained !” added 
Monsieur d’Entraigues. “I call you all to witness, 
gentlemen.” 

And as all assented. Monsieur d’Availlac turning 
toward them, exclaimed : 

“Am I listening to French noblemen? What? Did 
our ancestors gam their titles and coats of arms on 
battle-fields to see their descendants form a compact 
with the foreigner?” 

“ Monsieur d’Availlac!” Count d’Artois interrupted. 

“ Monseigneur, I beseech you to hear me and to be- 
lieve that I speak but from my love for my princes and 
my native land. You have asked the foreigner for the 
renewal of political order. It was done at first through 
principle; but on reflection, he decided to work only#. for 
his own advantage. The armies of Prussia and Austria 
have just defeated the Republican troops at Kerwinde, 
Pirmasens, and Kaiserlauteru. Conde, Valenciennes, 


22 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Le Quesnoy, and Landrecies have capitulated. These 
successes have increased the aspirations of the invaders. 
At the beginning of the war they were merely striving 
for the restoration of the monarchical principle. Now 
thej" dream of nothing less than the conquest and divis- 
ion of France. Gentlemen, I appeal to your consciences, 
I appeal to your memories. Finally, Monseigneur, you 
have not forgotten the torpor of the protectorates of the 
Cabinets of Vienna and Berlin ; and if your own memory 
fails, let me remind you of the day you entreated me to 
accompany you to the Court of St. Petersburg to solicit 
from the Empress Catherine more disinterested inter- 
vention.” 

At this reminder Count d’ Artois involuntarily put his 
hand to his side, and d’Availlac noticed that he had 
changed the sword he formerly wore. 

“On returning to London,” Count d’ Artois replied, 
“ I enumerated the troops at my disposal, as we have 
just done. But if I believed that, while the King lived, 
they would suffice, I was soon obliged to alter my mind 
when I examined our financial resources. To whom 
should I apply? To you, Monsieur d’Entraigues? You 
had just placed the little money you had left at the dis- 
posal of the Prince de Conde. To you. Monsieur 
d’Espomelles? You had left France with three thou- 
sand crowns, and that very day had summoned your 
tradesmen to ask for credit. To you. Monsieur de Fler- 
mont? But for the chances of the gaming-table, you 
would not have had enough to pay the expenses of your 
journey to Paris. You, Monsieur de Chatillon? The 
office your wife holds at the English Court barely sup- 
ports you in the style that befits your station. Then I 
made a last essay. I begged Monsieur de Flermont to 


COUNT d’AYAILLAC MAINTAINS TRADITIONS. 23 

go to Paris, at the risk of his life, reach the King and 
obtain his signature, for which the Treasury of England 
consented to advance me ten millions. The King is 
dead. And,” he added, drawing d’Availlac aside, “I 
have pledged the sword, of which you know, to Samuel 
the Jew. If it is not redeemed by midnight to-morrow, 
the Jew will have the right to dispose of it.” 

“The sword of ” 

“ Hush !” interrupted Count d’ Artois. •“ If you love 
me, hush!” 

Then, raising his voice, he added: “Well, Monsieur 
d’Availlac, do you still think we could do without the 
foreigner, and, besides his troops, dispense with his 
money?” 

“Why did not Monseigneur apply to me? I have a 
million deposited in the Bank of England.” 

“Because I knew what conditions you would impose 
the day that I became your debtor. Even now if, re- 
fusing to submit to them, I ask you to do me the favor 
to advance this million?” 

“I should refuse, for reasons that your conscience 
will appreciate !” 


CHAPTER III. 


UNEXPECTED AID. 

Count d’Artois and his companions were still under 
the influence of this scene when a voice exclaimed : 

“ So we waste time in theatrical talk while the King 
is guillotined, thrones crumble, and God is insulted !” 

A person of most extraordinary appearance came 
forward. 

Imagine a man of forty-flve or fifty, with a figure 
above middle height, whose muscles showed remarkable 
strength. On his broad shoulders place a head as round 
as a deer’s; with immense jaws; gray hair arranged in 
the Breton fashion ; small, cat-like eyes, set very near 
a nose hooked like an eagle’s beak, and a mouth which 
resembled a sabre-gash. Dress him in a coat of brown 
cloth, ornamented with copper buttons, rumpled, stained, 
and worn, whose ragged skirts fell upon muddy boots. 
In his left hand he holds a felt hat, with a long reddish 
nap, and in his right a gnarled stick, on which he leans. 

Count d’Artois retreated a step. 

“ Who are you?” 

“ I will tell you. Monseigneur. I am a man who be- 
lieves in one God, the true one; one royal family, the 
Bourbons, and who hates all who seek to assail the 
church or the throne. This twofold faith was as deeply 
rooted in my heart when I was five years old as it is 
now. Becoming an orphan at ten, I lived either by 
24 


UN’EXPECTED aie. 


25 


fighting, like the wolves, or by stealing, like the foxes. 
At twelve I took my first communion and entered the 
royal navy as cabin-boy. At twenty, I was a rover; at 
thirty, a privateer; but on my fiag three words were 
embroidered : ‘God, the King.^ At this time an event 
which concerns myself alone taught me that I was not 
born for happiness. I strove to console myself by liv- 
ing for duty. Not obtaining the consolation, I became 
wicked. I am a bad, a very bad man. Monseigneur, 
capable of everything except blaspheming and failing 
in respect for my master, who yesterday (I was here 
when Monsieur de Flermont arrived) was called Louis 
XVI., and who is now the regent, your brother. To- 
morrow it may be you, the Count d ’Artois. When the 
revolution broke out, all the evil in my nature — and 
there is much — began to seethe. Never did starving 
wild beast feel its claws stretch at the scent of prey 
more than I mine at the sight of a Revolutionist, and, 
later, a Republican. I knelt before the statue of my 
patron saint, beseeching forgiveness for my past sins 
and absolution for those I should commit in future for 
the good cause. From that moment I made war upon 
my enemies and consequently yours. Messieurs, by every 
means at the disposal of a man who has teeth, claws, 
a knife, a gun, and a chaplet. Shrinking from nothing, 
I learned, where force was useless, to resort to treach- 
ery. During this period — four years — I have become 
trained to convSpire, Mon seigneur, and to judge of the 
inanity of honest dealing when the enemy is a cheat. 
That is why I laughed secretly when I heard Monsieur 
d’Availlac squander pompous phrases while you found 
no objections save the arguments of princes. Ma)^ I go 
on. Monseigneur?” 


26 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Count d’Artois seemed fascinated by the stranger’s 
glance, the tones of his voice, the singularity of his 
whole appearance. 

“Goon.” 

“ Monseigneur, I have just explained the advantages 
offered by a man like myself in a period of revolution. 
I ought also to inform you of the drawbacks. If heaven 
has made me one of its instruments of justice, if it 
sometimes rewards the services I can render the altar 
and the throne by granting me success in certain enter- 
prises, it also remembers my sins, and, to punish them, 
makes me fail in other attempts. Thus I am alter- 
nately lucky and unlucky, a valuable or an unfortunate 
man. To-day I might carry a fort by assault; to-mor- 
row I would' trip over the smallest stone in the road. 
It depends upon the feeling of Him who rules us, and 
the grievances occasioned by my wickedness. Whoever 
employs me speculates a little upon what the atheists 
call chance. I must add, in my own behalf, that my 
stubbornness is of the quality which usually repairs 
misfortunes and mishaps. Now, Monseigneur, you 
know me as well as I know myself. While your parti- 
sans fight openly in the ranks of foreign armies, do you 
want a man who will work in darkness and, among 
your lions, will take the part of the jackal and the 
mole?” 

Count d’Artois made an effort to recover his self- 
control. 

“ How did you succeed in entering here?” 

“Ask the grain of sand how it killed Cromwell.” 

“And who is to prove your sincerity?” 

“ I expected that question, Monseig’neur, and I will 
answer it. A few weeks ago the Jacobins, gathered in 


UNEXPECTED AID. 


27 


the municipality of Toulon, vowed to defend themselves 
to the death against the English fleet anchored a few 
miles from the port. A man was watching, thinking 
that the victory of the English navy must lead either to 
the deliverance of Louis XVI. or the proclamation of 
the sovereignty of Louis XVII. or of Louis XVIII. 
This man, profiting by the darkness, took a boat, left 
the port, and requested to be received on board the ship 
commanded by Admiral Hood. A single night sufficed 
to arrange a conspiracy with him. The following day 
the commander of the naval forces was won over, a 
former member of the bodyguard was placed at the 
head of the Xational Guard ; the emigrants garrisoned 
the forts, and lastly Admiral Trogoff promised his aid. 
A week after, still at the man’s instigation, negotia- 
tions were opened with Admiral Hood under cover of 
an exchange of prisoners, and the last measures to be 
adopted were settled. Admiral Trogoff raised the 
white flag over the citadel; Admiral Hood appeared. 
The National Guard was held in check, the guns of 
the forts did not Are. Toulon was captured. The 
man mentioned in return for his services asked Admiral 
Hood for nothing except two hundred thousand francs 
and a few lines testifying his assistance. The two 
hundred thousand francs were kept for party work. 
Monseigneur,” he added, presenting a pocket-book to 
Count d’Artois, “ I give them to you.” 

“What? The man?” 

“ Was I, Monseigneur. Will you please read these 
lines?” 

Count d’Artois glanced over the letter proffered by 
the newcomer, then exchanging it for the pocket-book, 
said : 


28 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“Gentlemen, from this day forth I beg you to con- 
sider Monsieur Saint-Rejant one of ourselves.” 

“And I, Monseigneur,” cried Count d’Availlac in- 
dignantly, “I will tell you this: A foreign foe has 
dared -to violate the country of our ancestors ; I will not 
have history record that not one French nobleman was 
found to defend it. I shall go to the South to join the 
armies of the Republic.” 

“Which contain only rebels.” 

“True; but rebels who, at least, are Frenchmen.” 

“ Monsieur d’ Availlac, I leave you to bear the respon- 
sibility of your conduct.” 

“I accept it. Monseigneur.” 

And, bowing respectfully, he left the apartment, his 
head erect and his heart glowing with courage. 


CHAPTER IV. 


FOR THE king! FOR FRANCE! 

The death of Louis XVI. was to be the signal for 
fresh insurrections in France. 

One column of troops started from Brittany and Nor- 
mandy, marching to Evreux, where it threatened Paris. 
A second left Bordeaux, seeking to draw after it the 
departments of the basin of the Loire. Six thousand 
men from Marseilles, stationed at Avignon, while await- 
ing the Languedocians from Pont Saint-Esprit, suc- 
ceeded in uniting at Lyons all the troops gathered at 
Grenoble to attack the capital. But if danger threat- 
ened within, how much greater was the peril without. 

On one side the Duke of York, commanding twenty 
thousand Austrians and Hanoverians; the Prince of 
Orange, at the head of forty-five thousand Austrians 
and eight thousand Hessians; Prince Hohenlohe, with 
thirty thousand Austrians, occupying Namur and Lux- 
embourg ; on the other, the King of Prussia , preparing 
to cross the Rhine at Bacharach, aided by Wurmser, 
with fifteen thousand Austrians, and the Hessian corps 
of Shoenfeld, encamping upon tlie right bank, opposite 
the outskirts of Cassel. Along the Alps the Piedmontese 
were arming to recapture from France Savoy and the 
county of Nice. In the Pyrenees, war was being carried 
on with Spain, and Ricardos was master of Perpignan. 

An unusual stir pervaded London, where the news had 
arrived at the same time as Count d’ Artois’ messenger. 

29 


30 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Never had there been so much bustle in the city, so 
much excitement on the Exchange, so great a crowd in 
the taverns. The people, in their eagerness to learn the 
consequences of the event, carried curiosity so far as to 
seek the most distinguished emigrants at their homes 
and assemble them before Saint Paul, calling upon them 
for an explanation of the state of affairs. At Temple 
Bar a meeting of five thousand persons was organized 
to demand from the Government stronger measures of 
coercion against the Revolution. 

But the centre of news was the White Heron, which 
had been fairly taken by assault since noon. 

“Yes,” cried the youngest of a group, “by monarchi- 
cal law, the King has not ceased to exist. He lives in 
the person of the dauphin.” 

“True,” retorted a neighbor; “but as a minor and a 
prisoner, he cannot exercise the royal power.” 

“Then,” asked a third, “who will rule in his name?” 

“ Count d’ Artois.” 

“Why?” 

“Because he has the monarchy in his hands.” 

“ In that case, will he have the regency?” 

“Allow me,” interposed a fourth. “You know my 
sympathy for Monseigneur, and how earnestly I wish 
that he might possess it. Jut we must admit that 
Monsieur is the head of the family. The laws of the 
kingdom, as well as traditions, give him the guardian- 
ship of the young king and of the government.” 

“You are right, his household was formed a month 
ago.” 

At these words the other guests rose to listen to the 
newcomer. 

“ His household formed?” 


FOR THE KIHG! FOR FRAHCE ! 


31 


‘‘Entirely, gentlemen. You all know Monsieur 
d’Entraigues? You are aware that he has had charge 
of maintaining the intercourse between Count d’ Artois 
and Monsieur? I have just had this information from 
Monsieur d’Entraigues himself. Formed, as on the 
eve of an accession : For Minister of Foreign Affairs, 
the Duke de Lavauguyon.” 

“ He is overwhelmed with debts.” 

“ He will gamble in foreign securities.” . 

“ Who else?” 

“For Chancellor, Monsieur de Flacheslanden.” 

“ A gamester !” 

“ A lucky gamester ! A valuable quality in a poli- 
tician. Count d’Avary is the captain of the body-guard, 
the Duke de Fleury is the first gentleman of the bed- 
chamber. I don’t mention the ambassadors.” 

Silence followed the names of the gentlemen who 
were to form Monsieur’s household. The majority of 
the emigrants present were risking their all in the hope 
that Count d’ Artois, to whose fortunes they were at- 
tached, would at least be regent. 

Samuel greeted the prognostic with a wry face. The 
triumph of Monsieur’s party over Count d’Artois’ 
might affect certain notes. 

The pause was interrupted by five voices singing in 
chorus to a slow ry thm : 

If thou to Paradise dost go, 

Bigou, 

Thy musket take. 

If thou to Paradise dost go, 

Thy musket take • 

And thy biniou.* 

*A musical instrument, a horn, very popular in Brittany. — 
Trans. 


32 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


They were those of Saint-Rejant, Picot-Lemoelan, 
Coster Saint- Victor, Carbon, surnamed Petit Fran- 
goiSj and Joy an. 

The night before, when they left Count d’Artois, the 
last four had followed Saint-Rejant and, when outside, 
invited him to dine. 

They were natives of the same country, shared the 
same beliefs, understood the same method of warfare. 
So they soon became friends and exchanged confidences 
concerning their impressions of this prince, whose 
timidity suggested cowardice, and the gentlemen who 
were evidently better fitted to dance at court than to 
conspire with arms in their hands. 

How unlike the Vendean and Breton conspiracies, 
with scapulary on the neck, a song on the lips, hate in 
the heart, and weapons in the hand ! Pitiless, like God 
and kings. Burning, massacreing, and praying ! 

They had listened for an hour to what was said around 
them, feeling more and more contempt for these noble- 
men, who discussed a question of precedence while 
altars, throne, and native land were threatened. To 
show their indifference, they sang together the refrain 
of the Marche de Saint-Brieuc, composed by the Abbe 
Balatier, the cure of Saint-Barnabe. 

Samuel thought he must check their hilarity. 

“Devil take you, Jew, if you have the misfortune to 
talk to me a minute longer; as sure as my name is 
Saint-Rejant, I’ll cut off both your ears with this knife, 
which carved from a bit of boxwood the cross I wear 
in the processions.” 

“But ” 

“There are no buts,” said Picot-Lemoelan, to whom 
Samuel, alarmed by Saint-Rejant’s threat, had appealed. 


FOR THE king! FOR FRANCE! 


33 


Then, as Samuel again opened his mouth, he stopped 
him with: 

“No huts, or I’ll pluck out your beard.” 

Then they repeated the refrain — 

If thou to Paradise dost go, 

Bigou, 

Thy musket take. 

If thou to Paradise dost go, , 

Thy musket take 
And thy biniou. 

“ Come, come !” cried Samuel furiously, “ you forget 
that you are in London, where we have not been burned 
for a long time ! And in the White Heron, among the 
faithful partisans of the King of France, not in the 
Stork or the tavern of St. Thomas, where the sailors 
drink with the wanton women of Dead-Man’s Alley.” 

Carbon and Picot-Lemoelan were about to answer, 
but Saint-Rejant anticipated them : 

“If the partisans of the King of France complain of 
our songs, they would do well not to choose a heretic 
for a go-between.” 

A young man approached Saint-Rejant. 

“ Pardon me. Monsieur, I think you intended to give 
some of us a lesson.” 

“ I did not mean to give a lesson, but a bit of advice.” 

“And the advice?” 

“ Is this, since you seem to desire it. I would counsel 
you to pay less heed to Monsieur’s household, or Mon- 
seigneur’s prerogatives; but instead to take care that 
your swords do not rust while our friends are fighting 
in France. If you insist upon knowing whence this 
counsel comes, my name is Saint-Rejant. I visited 
3 


34 


THE KOMAIfCE OF THE SWOKD. 


London to offer ray arm to Count d ’Artois. I sing with 
ray friends, soldiers of the West, hard as steel, and 
turbulent as the tempest, to help me wait more patiently 
for the hour when I can again use my weapons, while 
you may once more discuss the question of the exact 
height a sword-knot should be worn.” 

His questioner, with an angry gesture, returned to 
his companions, while the nonplussed Samuel scolded 
his waiters and signed to them to refill the jugs. 

Meanwhile darkness was slowly closing in. One of 
the fogs which make the streets impassable even for 
those most familiar with them was gradually shrouding 
London. A greasy smoke covered the city, entering the 
houses through the chimneys, penetrating the chinks of 
the windows, or stealing under the doors. The lan- 
terns, lighted from custom, already shed but a dim 
gleam, which would soon disappear in the increasing 
density of the fog. The night would be dark and 
dangerous. 

In vain the landlord of the White Heron, to conceal 
from the eyes of his patrons the danger of delay, 
doubled the number of lights. The fog invaded the tav- 
ern to such a degree that one end of the room was barely 
visible from the other. 

This gave the signal for departure, and the White 
Heron was soon empty. 

Samuel thought it wiser to close, and was giving the 
order to do so, when he noticed that one man had re- 
mained, and went up to him. 

“Are you not afraid of losing your way?” he asked. 

“ I was waiting until we were alone to have a talk 
with you.” 

Samuel was too much accustomed to these private 


FOR THE KII^G! FOR FRANCE ! 35 

conversations, and understood their object too well, to 
be surprised. 

“ What can I do for you? Do you want money?” 

“ On the contrary.” 

“ What do you mean?” 

“That not only I have no intention of borrowing 
money, but I came to offer some.” 

“ Upon my word, this is something new. Will it be 
committing an indiscretion to ask your name?” 

“ What can that matter?” 

“True, on the conditions you offer. So you have 
come to give me money. In exchange for a service?” 

“ In exchange for an article.” 

“ Explain yourself.” 

“ I am a collector. Through an imprudent remark I 
have learned that the day before yesterday some one 
came to you to pawn a sword.” 

“ Ah, you- have learned that ! And you know the 
person’s name?” 

“Yes.” 

“At least, should it prove necessary, you would be 
ready to swear that this imprudence was not committed 
by me?” 

“ Don’t be troubled. The sword was pawned for ” 

“Two hundred thousand francs.” 

“ That is not true.” 

Samuel was disconcerted. 

“ The sword was pledged for a hundred and fifty 
thousand francs.” 

“ Nothing can be hidden from you.” 

“Which sum must be returned to-day before mid- 
night.” 

“ That is correct.” 


36 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


“ If the money were not paid by midnight ” 

“The sword would be mine.” 

The man uttered a sigh of relief. He had learned 
that the pledge was not yet redeemed. 

“ Supposing that these one hundred and fifty thousand 
francs should not be returned by the appointed hour, 
what would you ask for the weapon?” 

“Five hundred thousand.” 

“Very well.” 

Samuel’s surprise increased. He had feared that the 
price would alarm his customer. 

“Five hundred thousand in gold or bank-notes,” he 
added. 

“ I understood. Here they are.” 

He laid five hundred thousand francs in Bank of 
England notes on the table. 

“ But it is not midnight,” said the dazzled Jew. 

“I am paying in advance, to give you confidence, 
being sure that your borrower will not come in time.” 

“That’s another matter,” said the landlord of the 
White Heron, counting the bank-notes, and then lock- 
ing them up. “ I’ll give you a receipt.” 

“ It is unnecessary.” 

He rose as he spoke. 

“Are you going?” 

“It is time. This evening, at midnight.” 

“ At least wait until I show you the way.” 

The man went out of the door and disappeared in the 
darkness. Crossing the street, he leaned against the 
opposite house and waited. 

The fog continued to grow denser, exhaling a pene- 
trating, insipid odor. The carriages no longer moved 
to and fro. No one passed, except at intervals two 


FOR THE KIHG! FOR FRANCE! 


37 


policemen holding torches that crackled in the damp- 
ness and shed a light which extended scarcely five feet. 
The silence was sometimes broken by the voice of a 
drunken man or the sound of a whistle summoning 
police officers or thieves. Soon a fine, cold rain blended 
with the fog, converting it into something resembling 
liquid mud. 

The man wrapped his cloak closer around him. 

The hours passed on, marked by the clock in the 
neighboring chapel, every stroke muffied by the dense 
air. 

One could scarcely hear the chime of St. Martin’s, 
whose tone is sharp, or the great bell of St. Paul’s, an- 
nouncing that the watchman saw nothing on the 
horizon. 

Meanwhile the wind began to blow keenly, scattering 
the fog and driving in slanting showers the cold rain, 
which was beginning to fill the gutters. 

The man had stood for six hours as motionless as if 
he were dead, when he suddenly started. 

Some one was going toward the White Heron. 

The pedestrian crossed the street and went directly to 
the door of Samuel’s house, where he was in the act of 
raising the knocker. 

In an instant the other man stood between him and 
the door. 

The latter laid his hand on his sword. 

“ Is it you. Monseigneur?” the intruder murmured. 

The other started. 

“ What do you mean?” 

“Count d’Artois is to come to the Jew Samuel to re- 
deem a sword which was pawned the day before yester- 
day. If it is not he, you are one of his followers. Will 


38 


THE ROMANCE OR THE SWORD. 


you tell me your name, since the darkness prevents my 
seeing your face?” 

“Permit me to wait until you have given yours.” 

“It is Native Land.” 

“Monsieur, at this late hour, the game of riddles 
might become dangerous. I beg you to let me pass.” 

“ And if I should refuse?” 

“ I would cry ‘Stop thief !’ ” 

“You do not consider the consequences. The police 
will come. You will be obliged to explain your pres- 
ence at midnight before a money-lender’s door. You 
will compromise your prince, and in some degree your 
party. A fine result !” 

“You are right.” 

“ In that case take my advice ; go home quietly. I am 
giving you a piece of friendly counsel, and to-morrow 
tell your master that, in spite of your persistence in try- 
ing to see the Jew, you were beset by so many obstacles 
that you were forced to renounce your purpose.” 

“Fortunately I have another way of opening a 
passage.” 

“ What is it?” 

“ This.” 

While uttering the last words, the speaker drew a 
stiletto from his pocket and dealt the stranger a vigorous 
blow. 

But, anticipating the movement, the latter swiftly 
sprang aside and the thrust fell on the empty air. Then 
grasping the other’s arm and wresting the dagger from 
his grasp, he exclaimed : 

“ Shame, sir ! These are the weapons used by knaves. 
I thought our prince was served only hj gentlemen.” 

“ And what weapon would you expect a man to use 


FOE THE king! FOR FRANCE! 


39 


in the darkness against a person who refuses to tell his 
name and envelops himself in the fog as if it were an 
impenetrable cloak?” , 

“The weapon I intend to oppose to yours,” replied 
the stranger, drawing his sword. “ Come, there is no 
time to lose ; defend yourself, or you will force me to 
murder you !” 

The other also drew his sword just as a clock in the 
neighborhood struck three-quarters of an hour. 

“Fifteen minutes of twelve!” he said. 

“ In a quarter of an hour!” thought his antagonist. 

The darkness had become so dense that the swords 
groped about to seek each other. In a few’ seconds they 
met. 

At the first pass, the assailant received a slight wound 
in the wrist. 

“You are hurt!” 

“ How in the world should I find it out ; can one see a 
drop of blood?” 

“ Then it is to the death?” 

“Evidently, since you force me to it.” 

The two swords again met, and the duel continued. 

The blows were swift, enlivening the silence with a 
merry, resonant clangor, so exactly did the parry meet 
the thrust. After ten minutes the assailant began to 
lose patience : 

“Make haste, sir; you will let the hour pass.” 

Excited by this challenge, the other combatant hast- 
ened his attack, was wounded and, with a low cry, 
fell. 

Midnight struck. 

“For the king!” faltered the dying man, with his 
last breath. 


40 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


/ 


The victor bent over his adversary, ascertained that 
he was dead, raised his head, and vainly endeavored to 
recognize him in the darkness. Then, groping in the 
gloomi he unbuttoned his coat, took out a pocket-book, 
rose and,, lifting his hat, murmured : 

“God is my witness that I did it for honor’s sake.” 

He rapped thrice on Samuel’s door with the knocker. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE OATH. 

Day dawned, cold and dreary, over Hyde Park. The 
wind, still blowing violently, swept huge clouds, some- 
times gray, sometimes tinged with rose, across the sky, 
like a flock of frightened sheep. The fog, which had 
now become hoar-frost, spread a white coverlet over the 
earth, and the trees in the park looked as if they were 
crystallized. The famished sparrows alone disturbed 
the silence of the morning. 

Count d ’Artois had spent the night in waiting. 
Every instant he went to the window and gazed into 
empty space, watching anxiously for the return of his 
messenger. 

A thousand different thoughts disturbed him. 

He dreaded a perilous encounter, feared that Samuel 
might have taken some unfair advantage of the pledge, 
wondered if treason were at work. 

When the dawn made the light of the lamps grow 
pale, he determined to send for information. Just at 
that moment the roll of carriage- wheels was heard. 

Count d ’Artois opened the window and leaned out. 

The blows of the knocker echoed through the house. 

“ At last !” murmured the count, and he was already 
rushing toward the door opening upon the grand stair- 
case when his secretary said, entering: 

“ Monseigneur, the chief of police is here and asks to 
see you.” 


41 


42 THE BOMAHCE OF THE SWOED. 

“ The chief of police?” 

“ The matter appears to be something of the greatest 
importance.” 

“ Let him come in !” 

The chief of police entered. 

“ Monseigneur,” he said, “ the officers, in making their 
rounds this morning, found a man in front of the White 
Heron tavern.” 

Count d’ Artois started. 

“ He was lying with a sword-thrust in his breast.” 

What is his name?” 

“ It was impossible for us to discover.” 

“ Did he have no papers on his person?” 

“ His unbuttoned coat leads us to suppose that the 
person who committed the assault took them.” 

“ Divine mercy ! What is his description?” 

“Medium height, beardless, brown hair, blue eyes, 
dressed in the French style. Lastly — and this is why I 
resolved to come to you, Monseigneur — on the guard of 
his sword are engraved the arms of the king of France.” 

“ There can be no further doubt. It is Monsieur de 
Flermont. Where can I see him?” 

“The corpse is in my carriage. Monseigneur.” 

“ Let it be brought here ! Flermont killed ! Ah, the 
hand of God is in it !” 

Count d’ Artois had sunk into a chair, reflecting upon 
the misfortune and weighing its consequences. 

During this time, the chief of police had ordered two 
of his men to bring up the body and place it on a sofa 
in the room. 

“Flermont!” cried Count d’ Artois; “yes, it is he! 
And I was just distrusting him ! Sir, I am about to 
repeat the prayer for the dead.” 


THE OATH. 


43 


The chief of police signed to his men to withdraw, 
and moved aside himself until the kneeling prince had 
finished his silent prayer. 

After the count had made the sign of the cross the 
second time, he asked: “Have you questioned the 
landlord of the White Heron?” 

“ Our first step was to bring him face to face with the 
corpse, to ascertain whether he could recognize it as one 
of his customers. He assured us that he had never seen 
the gentleman.” 

“ He told the truth.” 

“ Has Monseigneur no information to give me which 
might aid the inquiries of the police?” 

Count d’Artois hesitated. 

“None, sir. I thank you for what you have done. 
Count de Flermont will be buried at my expense.” 

The officer recalled his men, who threw a cloak over 
the body and carried it away. 

As soon as he was alone, the count rang the bell and 
his secretary appeared. 

“Wait an instant.” 

He went to his desk and, after writing a letter, said : 

“ Go yourself to the White Heron. Tell the landlord 
Samuel privately to come here immediately. Then 
carry this letter to its* address: Monsieur Saint- Rejant, 
St. Martin’s Lane.” 

When the secretary had left the room. Count d’Artois 
sat down before the fire and soliloquized: 

“ The affair of the sword remains. The Jew will not 
ask more than a hundred and fifty thousand francs for it ! 
Suppose that — There are two possibilities : either Fler- 
mont was attacked by robbers, or he has been provoked 
to a duel. Thieves are apt to use the knife rather than 


44 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


the sword, so I will discard the first hypothesis. Yet 
the pocketbook, containing one hundred and fifty 
thousand francs and my letter, has disappeared. My 
letter introducing Flermont to this Samuel ! If the as- 
sailant was one of the hotheads who seek quarrels solely 
to have an opportunity to fence, Flermont, having im- 
portant business, would certainly have exercised patience 
and deferred his revenge. To induce him to fight, he 
must have been driven to his last entrenchments, brought 
face to face with an absolute necessity. Only a jealous 
lover, an outraged husband — yet he had no love-affairs ! 
A political adversary might have showed this persist- 
ence ; but a political adversary who took the pocketbook 
merely to search for compromising papers would have 
found my letter and kept it! Unless— utilizing both 
money and letter — he has obtained possession of the 
sword !” 

“ Monseigneur !” 

“Who is it?” 

“ The landlord of the White Heron.” 

“ Show him in, and leave us !” 

Samuel made a low bow. 

Count d’Artois drew him to the window and, lower- 
ing his voice, said : 

“ Is the sword still in your hands?” 

“No, Monseigneur.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“ I have sold it.” 

“ To whom?” 

“ I don’t know ” 

“If you are Ijfing — !” cried Count d’ Artois, with a 
threatening gesture. 

The Jew drew himself up. “Monseigneur is taking 


THE OATH. 


45 


an unwarrantable tone. It had been agreed between 
us, in writing, that I could dispose of the pledge if it 
was not redeemed yesterday by midnight. When 
twelve o’clock struck, I had seen no one. Ten minutes 
after I sold it to a collector.” 

“And you do not know his name?” 

“No.” 

“ Fiend of a Jew ! Burning your feet might perhaps 
make you speak.” 

“ Pardon me, you misunderstand the time and place. 
Should you commit such an imprudence in England at 
the present day, your noble head would soon be in the 
running noose of the Newgate executioner.” 

“ Will you describe the appearance of this purchaser?” 

“ I deeply regret that I cannot satisfy your legitimate 
curiosity. Monseigneur understands the advantages of 
discretion too thoroughly to insist upon it. Just as I 
would have my thumbs cut off rather than confide to 
my customer the secret of your visit, I should equally 
fail in my duty as a business man were I to reveal the 
identity of a patron who evidently had his reasons for 
maintaining his incognito.” 

“ And suppose that your obstinacy in keeping silence 
should make you the accomplice of a crime?” 

“Do you allude to the unfortunate gentleman who 
was found dead at my door last night?” 

“ At the time he was on his way to give you, from 
me, a letter of introduction, and the one hundred and 
fifty thousand francs upon which we had agreed.” 

“What, that gentleman? Pardon me, that entirely 
changes the state of affairs ! As for that poor gentle- 
man — Punctilious as I am in my business, it must not 
be supposed that the landlord of the White Heron — 


46 


THE EOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Wait! I have it now. My stranger first called on me 
just at dusk. Then he evidently returned after having 
committed the crime. I see it clearly ! Or rather no, I 
see nothing. To have killed this gentleman, he must 
have known what his pocket contained. In that case 
he need not have given me five hundred thousand 
francs. The letter of introduction with the one hun- 
dred and fifty thousand were sufficient — I don’t under- 
stand it at all. How did he look? I scarcely saw 
him, on account of the fog. Hair? The devil him- 
self could not have distinguished it in the smoky 
atmosphere. Bright, very bright eyes. Of what color, 
black or blue? The light changes the shade. The 
voice? Ah! I do not know, he spoke so low. He 
was of medium height, and completely enveloped in 
a large brown cloak. Upon my honor, that is all I can 
tell you.” 

Count d’ Artois was on the point of forgetting himself 
and had already raised his clenched hand, when his 
secretary entered saying : 

“ Monseigneur, a courier with an urgent letter.” 

The messenger delivered the letter and a package. 

Count d’ Artois broke the seal and read : 

“Monseigneur: — 

“ Last night I sought a quarrel with the man whom 
you commissioned to redeem the weapon pledged to the 
landlord of the White Heron, and I killed him in a fair 
fight. 

“ Who was he? The thick fog permitted me to reach 
his breast, but prevented my seeing his features. 

“He carried a pocketbook containing one hundred 
and fifty thousand francs and a letter of introduction 
signed with your name. 

“ I return the money and the letter. 


THE OATH. 


47 


“Use the former as you choose, but for the honor of 
your name and of the party, destroy the letter. 

“ God has already forgiven the murder on account of 
my motive. 

“ When you open these lines, I shall be out of reach. 

“In a few days the sword that you were about to 
dishonor by an act of treason will flash in open day for 
the defense of our native land against a foreign foe. 

“D’Availlac.” 

“ A sword for which I would have paid a million !” 
cried the prince, tearing the letter into fragments. 

“ A million !” exclaimed Samuel in his turn. 

“ Did you hear me?” 

“ You shouted loudly enough.” 

“ Yes, a million ! Begone!” 

“ That is enough,” muttered the landlord of the White 
Heron, withdrawing. Then, while descending the 
staircase, he added: “A million! He said a million! 
Dunce that I am, I might have made nine hundred thou- 
sand francs !” 

Count d’ Artois was greatly depressed. For a mo- 
ment the twofold consciousness of helplessness and rage 
so stifled him that he felt as if he were on the verge of 
fainting. 

He uttered an exclamation. 

Saint-Rejant entered. 

“ You sent for me. Monseigneur?” " 

“ For a task which circumstances, since I summoned 
you, have singularly aided. Monsieur Saint-Rejant, 
you must join Count d’Availlac at any cost.” 

“And then?” 

“You will kill him.” 

“ And then?” 


48 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“You will bring me his sword, that I may be sure he 
is dead.” 

“ That’s the way I understand politics. Is that all?” 

“ That is all.” 

“ I see that Monseigneur has done with sentimentality. 
I have only to thank him for not having asked me to 
say nothing about it. God be with you, Monseigneur.” 

“And with you, too. Monsieur.” 

“I shall take the communion the night before. Mon- 
seigneur,” and bowing, he left the room. 

The prince went to the window and watched Saint- 
Rejant until he was out of sight. 


CHAPTER VI. 


A RECRUIT. 

Toulon in the hands of the English was the com- 
mencement of invasion, so it was important for France 
to reconquer the place as soon as possible. 

For several weeks the committee gave the most urgent 
orders respecting it. 

Carteaux, with eight thousand men, was stationed at 
the outlet of the defiles of Ollioules, and General La- 
poype, detached from the army of Italy with four thou- 
sand men, went on the opposite side toward Sollies and 
Lavalette. 

Had the enemy been bolder they might have separate- 
ly attacked Carteaux and General Lapoype, who, being 
cut off from all communication, would have found it 
impossible to assist each other. 

The foe preferred to fortify the place, perfect its de- 
fences, equip the citadels and increase to fifteen thou- 
sand men its effective force of English, Spanish, Pied- 
montese, and Neapolitan soldiers. 

The Committee of Public Safety, being informed of 
the numerous military works completed, resolved to act 
more vigorously. 

Carteaux was replaced by General Dugommier, a 
more experienced commander. Twenty-eight thousand 
men were collected and ordered to finish the siege before 
the end of the campaign. 

4 


49 


50 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWOKD. 


On the morning of which I write, though it was the 
latter part of autumn, the sky, transparently blue, was 
steeped with radiant light, in which basked the little 
village of Osta, a kilometer from Ollioules. 

Osta, which was destroyed by a conflagration at the 
beginning of the year 1806, was then composed of about 
thirty houses surrounded by trees. These houses were 
so white and the trees so bushy that at a distance it 
looked like a real dove’s nest. Around the hamlet 
stretched fields bordered by plantations of mulberry- 
trees. 

But if the comparison to a dove’s nest formerly 
seemed apt, at the present period of our story it had 
wholly ceased to be so. 

Osta no longer contained its pretty silkworm raisers, 
with their black hair, sparkling eyes, smiling lips, and 
supple figures. They were no longer seen passing along 
coquettishly and proudly with a silk kerchief crossed 
over the bust, an apron round the waist, and feet so 
small that the lads of Ollioules declared that the Osta 
girls were badly off at Christmas-tide. 

Its lads, too, had disappeared — brave, sturdy fellows, 
so fond of love-making that they spent all their Sundays 
in playing on the flute or writing flowery rhymes. 

The girls had gone farther up into the country, and 
the youths were in the army. Osta sheltered only the 
regiments which had come from the four corners of 
France, and Satan knows where else into the bargain. 
That morning a table placed, in the garden of the 
municipal building, then occupied by the general-in- 
chief, Dugommier, was surrounded by a council of war, 
commissioned to discuss the plan which the Committee of 
Public Safety had just had drawn up by the Committee 


A RECRUIT. 


51 


on Fortifications, with a view to a regular attack upon 
Toulon. 

For half an hour the general-in-chief vaunted its 
clearness, and explained its advantages when, having 
noticed a young officer who, among all who composed 
the council of war, 'was the only person who did not 
seem to share his optimism, he suddenly asked : 

“Well, Commandant, what fault do you find with it?” 

A smile from the rest of the group greeted the gen- 
eral’s question. Not that he awakened mirth — they 
had too often seen him break through the lines of the 
foe, shine with apt and valiant deeds — but the com- 
mandant was young and recently promoted, opposition 
from him seemed like boasting. 

“General,” began the young officer, “my opinion is 
that the plan of scattering the points of attack instead 
of concentrating our forces upon a single one is a mis- 
take.” 

“ Is not every point indicated a menace?” 

“ Undoubtedly, but a menace which may be neglected 
for the sake of the principal point.” 

“Which, you think, is ” 

“ The fort of I’Eguillette, the Little Gibraltar, as it is 
called.” 

The general gazed intently at a red triangle to which 
the commandant pointed. 

“See here. General. I close the roadstead. The 
squadrons are unable to stir. Do they attempt evolu- 
tions? They run the risk of being burned. Do they 
try to evacuate? The deserted garrison must inevitably 
surrender. So it is a necessity first to get possession 
of I’Eguillette at any cost.” 

“ But the fort is impregnable.” 


52 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


‘^Boldness will defeat the English.” 

“ What do you know about it?” 

“I have fought them in Corsica, though they were 
defended by Paoli, and I silenced them. Permit me to 
remind you that I have had an opportunity to study 
them in Italy.” 

“Would you accept the responsibility of the attack?” 

“ Entirely.” 

The general reflected some time, with his finger rest- 
ing on the spot pointed out by the young officer. 

“ How soon could you commence operations?” 

“In a week.” 

“You are right,” said the commander-in-chief after 
a final study of the plan. “Your view is best suited to 
the circumstances. Please prepare a report as quickly 
as possible. To-morrow we will study it again.” 

Then turning to the other members of the council of 
war, he added : 

“ I beg you to give me an}^ information which may be 
of service to Commandant Bonaparte. I thank you. 
Farewell until to-morrow.” 

It was ten o’clock in the morning when the .members 
of the council of war separated. 

Bonaparte went down a path winding around the 
municipal buildings and crossing several vineyards to 
reach a little house standing upon a hill, before which 
extended a radiant landscape. In this dwelling, whose 
owner had left it several days before, the officer had 
placed his possessions, which comprised the very light 
luggage of a poor soldier. 

“ Saturnin !” he called. 

An artilleryman came out. 

“ Commandant?” 


A RECRUIT. 


53 


“ Is there anything new?” 

“ hTothing.” 

“You speak in a somewhat embarrassed tone.” 

“ Because, Commandant ” 

“ Come, speak out. ” 

“Well, Commandant, the man who has supplied us 
with fish for a fortnight asked for his money.” 

“ What did you say?” 

I told him that our pay was in arrears.” 

“ And then?” 

“ Then he refused to trust me.” 

“ He did right.” 

“ Did right? The people for whom we are fight- 
ing ” 

“ If those who don’t fight were compelled to feed those 
who do, the former would not only be speedily ruined, 
but the latter would run the risk of starving to death.” 

“Why?” 

“Because for one citizen who folds his arms there are 
a hundred who drill.” 

“ I didn’t think of that.” 

“Well, then, what will you serve instead of the fish?” 

“ I meant to cook some eggs, and depended upon the 
canteen yonder ; but the Third Battery ate them yester- 
day evening in honor of their lieutenant’s birthday.” 

“ That proves that the lieutenant has known how to 
win the love of his men. Well, instead of the eggs?” 

“I took my gun and went in pursuit of a rabbit. 
Unluckily, they have all left the neighborhood because 
our horses have cropped the grass close.” 

“ Well, instead of the rabbit?” 

“Instead of the rabbit. Commandant, there is noth- 
ing.” 


54 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


“Nothing for breakfast! And you pretend to lack 
news. You are very hard to please.” 

“ Is that all, Commandant?” asked the artilleryman 
anxiously. 

“Evidently, since there is nothing else.” 

Saturnin sighed, buckled his belt one hole tighter, 
and went back into the house. 

Napoleon wheeled to the right, and with bent head 
began to pace up and down the garden behind the house. 

He had already forgotten the mishap of losing his 
breakfast, to think only of the responsibility which he 
had assumed in altering the plan of the Committee on 
Fortifications. 

For several months the armies of the Revolution had 
won a series of victories on all the frontiers. They 
triumphed at Wattignies in Belgium. Hoche, at the 
head of the Army of the Moselle, had at first compelled 
Brunswick to retreat at Bissingen and then marched to 
Werdt to defeat Wurmser and unite the two armies of 
the Rhine and the Moselle. 

Would he know how to conquer in his turn, render 
himself worthy of the same laurels, win his share of 
fame? 

Having secretly asked this question, he gazed into 
space, as if it contained the secret of a terrible enigma. 

Had one of the observers who read on a man’s brow 
the problem within chanced to pass at that moment, he 
would have scanned the young officer’s face with min- 
gled surprise and terror. 

The thinness of the countenance, the pallor of the 
temples, the bitter expression hovering around the lips, 
revealed sad memories and painful thoughts. But at 
the sight of the hrow, corrugated by a majestic dream. 


A RECRUIT. 


55 


the nose modelled like that of a Roman emperor scent- 
ing glory, the chin indicating strength of will, he would 
have speculated on the future. 

Napoleon remained for half an hour with his eyes 
bent on distant space, like an eaglet seeking its prey, 
then slowly turned his head and, besides Toulon, saw 
his native land, Corsica. 

The whole picture of a childhood so near and yet so 
far away rose before him. 

First came his early days at Ajaccio. His father, 
who, in spite of his misfortunes, had retained the 
pride of the Tuscan nobles. His mother, the daughter 
of a Pietro-Santa and the merchant Fesch. Then his 
departure. The school years at Autun, the period of 
training at Brienne, the military school of Paris, the 
garrison life at Valence and Auxonne. His return to 
Corsica. His family, exiled by Paoli, who, when a 
child, he had made his idol. 

All these faces and incidents passed before him. 

When his early youth was over he returned from 
Corsica to France, passing through Toulon — Toulon, 
which was now in the hands of the English, whom he 
hated, knowing that they were the real foe. His mili- 
tary instincts were already supplemented by an under- 
standing of politics. They alone were fighting without 
even having for an excuse the profits of conquest, 
merely to speculate on the Stock Exchange in the mis- 
fortunes of the public. The sordidly practical side of 
their interference inspired him with disgust and wrath. 

Suddenly the fort of I’Eguillette stood forth at the 
end of a promontory far more distinctly than the rest of 
the fortifications. The sun shining above made it ap- 
pear as if steeped in an apotheosis. Napoleon had a 


56 


THE KOMAKCE OE THE SWOllD. 


presentiment that his sabre would make a deep cut, like 
Roland at Roncevalles, through which the English sol- 
diers would pour like blood from a wound. 

At that moment he saw nothing more save hills 
blending with the azure sky. 

When he roused himself from his reverie, Saturnin 
stood before him, saluting. 

“ Well?” 

“ Commandant, a man wishes to see you.” 

“ Did he tell you his name?” 

“No.” 

Bonaparte hesitated a moment. 

“In these times we must not thwart chance. Let 
him come in.” 

He sat down on a stone bench, surrounded by shrub- 
bery, and when the stranger appeared rose and, motion- 
ing to the place beside him, resumed his seat. 

“What can I do for you?” 

“Commandant, in the month of October, 1785, you 
were a lieutenant in the regiment of La Fere, garrison- 
ing Valence?” 

“Yes.” 

“You were then lodging with a Demoiselle Bou?” 

“Who kept a restaurant and billiard-room. I can 
still see the house, which stood at the corner of the 
Grand Rue and the Rue Croissant.” 

“ One evening, just after you had dined with some of 
your comrades, one of them began a discussion of the 
policy of the late king, Louis XVI. When people 
talk politics, they are always apt to disagree. Your 
party soon divided into two sides : the first defending 
the ruling power with the eloquence of conviction; 
the second, of whom the comrade mentioned was 


A RECRUIT. 


57 


one, attacking it with a warmth which soon rendered 
it unjust.” 

“ To which side did I belong?” 

“ I don’t remember.” 

“ So much the worse. Go on, if you please.” 

“ The comrade’s name ” 

“ Wait — Sebastiani. He, too, was a Corsican.” 

“True.” 

“ Sebastiani, having somewhat exceeded proper 
bounds, a man who was there, too, and had tried from 
the beginning to control his anger, rose, addressed the 
officer, and sought a quarrel with him. The next morn- 
ing a duel took place, and poor Sebastiani received a 
sword-stroke dealt by the hand of a master.” 

“ I am flattered to hear you say so.” 

“What! The king’s supporter ” 

“Was I, Commandant: Count d’Availlac.” 

“I suppose that, after the lapse of flve years, you 
don’t come to seek tidings of Sebastiani. He fell before 
Wissembourg.” 

“ I beg you to believe. Commandant, that I sincerely 
regret it. But I certainly did not come on that account. 
After leaving Valence I returned to the court, where I 
performed the duties of first secretary. The revolu- 
tion having broken out, I continued to serve the king 
and his cause until the day that, hunted, surrounded, I 
was forced to fly, emigrate to England — whence I re- 
turned only a few weeks ago.” 

Napoleon abruptly turned his head arid gazed sternly 
at the count. 

“England? That is a bad recommendation, Count.” 

“I entreat you to hear me out. Commandant. My 
object in returning was less to evade dangerous pursuit 


58 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


than to join countrymen and partisans, point out to them 
the necessity of returning to France and entering the 
ranks of those who were defending her against a foreign 
foe, seeing in this the sole means of elevating the nobles 
in the eyes of the people and the Bourbons in the opin- 
ion of the country.” 

“The Bourbons belong to a defunct race!” cried 
Bonaparte, rising, agitated by many different emotions. 
“On the 20th of June, 1792, I was in the Tuileries 
when they were invaded by the mob — a hesitating, 
stupid mob, under the leadership of a few ruffians who 
were incapable of awing the most cowardly of our cor- 
porals, and whose sole means of intimidation was a 
single cannon, which they did not even know how to 
drag. I saw a woman of the people make the king 
choose between a sword adorned with flowers and a tri- 
colored cockade, and the king took the cockade ! I saw 
him afterward seize a cap — that of equality — which a 
workman held out to him on the end of a pole ! And in 
the council chamber the queen was waiting, with his 
daughter, Madame de Lamballe, and the dauphin ! By 
his side was Lejard, the minister of war! Ten grena- 
diers would have repulsed the whole mob and saved the 
majesty of royalty forever ! It preferred to put on the 
red cap ! Che Coglione ! ” 

The count was about to reply. 

“Let me finish,” interrupted the young officer in a 
tone of authority. “You are going to tell me that the 
king is dead and has left representatives. We will 
speak of them! The regent? Count d’Artois, who 
now styles himself lieutenant-general of the kingdom? 
Two weaklings who, the morning after the day on which 
their brother’s head fell, had but one idea : to dispute 


A RECRUIT. 


59 


with each other about priority* and appeal for a settle- 
ment of the question to sovereigns who have neglected 
to answer. Two poltroons, scribblers, and chatterers, 
the former wandering from Ham to Genoa, the latter 
from St. Petersburg to London, until they go to seek 
hospitality elsewhere. Cowards, who are afraid of 
powder ! Traitors who conspire with Prussia, Austria, 
Italy, England, and have not even the courage to lead 
the foreigners who risk their lives for them !” 

While he was speaking, carried away by his argu- 
ment, Count d’Availlac watched him, amazed by the 
lightning darting from his eyes, the resonance of his 
voice (whose tones sometimes had a touch of the Corsi- 
can accent) , the authority of his imperiously eloquent 
gestures. 

He waited for him to regain his calmness, which he 
was striving to do, while pacing up and down, stepping 
in his footprints, as if to recover composure by the very 
absurdity of the act. 

When he had again mastered himself, Napoleon once 
more took his seat beside his visitor. 

“ That is my opinion of them. Count d’Availlac, and 
it is the opinion of the entire army. Now, pardon me. 
I lead a solitary life, and there are moments when in- 
dignation is stifling!” 

“ The rest of my story will show you. Commandant, 
how nearly we agree,” replied the count. “So, I went 
to London for the reasons I have told you, but I vainly 
employed everj" means of persuasion to convince the 
prince and his adherents. I encountered invincible 
obstinacy. Vainly I tried to prove to them that a 
Frenchman fighting in the ranks of foreign armies is a 
scoundrel. All remained deaf. I could do nothing ex- 


GO 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


cept abandon a party which henceforth was unworthy 
of me. I left London. On reaching Dover, I experi- 
enced a final touch of compunction. We noblemen 
have been reared under peculiar conditions, amid a 
special circle. From childhood ideas were inculcated 
which became graven on our minds like the letters on 
the bark of a young tree. We have been taught that 
fidelity was a duty, and that duty did not reason. My 
remorse sprang specially from this last belief. Instead 
of embarking for France, as was my first intention, I 
went to Ham and presented m5’self to Monsieur, hoping 
to find there, if not greater breadth of ideas, ^t least 
more patriotism. Futile expectation : the same narrow- 
ness, the same obstinacy, the same cowardice! This 
time my resolution was formed. I would return to 
France, I would brave every danger — the possibility of 
being recognized, denounced, imprisoned, decapitated. 
I followed the coast as far as the environs of Toulon, 
which I knew was in the hands of the English. 
On my way I questioned those who were best in- 
formed and asked the method to be employed, the 
steps to be taken to enter the service. I was ad- 
vised to go to the regiments under General Dugommier’s 
orders. I went to Ollioules, where I learned by 
chance that the commander of the artillery sta- 
tioned at Osta was named Bonaparte. The inci- 
dent at Valence returned .to my memory. I said 
to myself that, in a soldier’s eyes, a duel is gen- 
erally a guarantee of courage and lo3"alty. So I come 
to say : ‘ Commandant, Count d’ Availlac will never 
be either a revolutionist or a republican ; but Count 
d’Availlac will always be a patriot. In this quality, 
he asks you to confide to him the most dangerous 


A RECRUIT. 


61 


post, that history may record that in these heroic 
days at least one royalist was found among those who 
died for France. ’ ” 

The young officer sat lost in reverie, his elbow resting 
on his knee and his head on his hand. 

The count’s conversation had awakened new thoughts, 
which he murmured more to himself than to his 
visitor: 

“ Ah ! if they were all like you ! What a magnificent 
army to oppose to the foreign foe! What an example 
to the princes, and what a lesson to the kings who 
threaten us! And all might be, perhaps, if France 
had a single man eloquent enough to draw them 
from these luckless Bourbons; powerful enough to 
recall the exiles, to open the frontier to immigration, 
to facilitate the settlement of old scores, and make 
the former privileged class the instruments of his for- 
tune! Yes,” he added, gazing at the sky, “but who 
will this man be?” 

Then, passing his hand across his brow, as if too many 
ideas were seething in his brain, he added : 

“Monsieur d’Availlac, stay at Osta. I will keep for 
you the post which you solicit.” 

The count bowed and left the young commander, 
whose eyes had again wandered toward Toulon. 

With folded arms and head erect, as if defying the 
English, he again scanned the fort of TEguillette and 
mentalty strove to take possession of it. He opposed 
his own batteries to those of the foe, confronted battal- 
ions with battalions. He issued orders, repeated amid 
the whistling of balls, and followed the progress of the 
advance. Suddenly the tri-colored flag waved above 
the citadel. 


62 


THE ROMAi^CE OF THE SWORD. 


“ Dinner is ready.” 

“ So you have found provisions?” 

“We must thank the First Battery, which seized one 
of the enemy’s trains.” 

“You see, Saturnin, it was better not to breakfast, 
but save our appetite for England !” 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE CAPTURE OF TOULON. 

It was a stormy night. The night wind, blowing from 
the sea, brought squalls of rain, which since five o’clock 
in the afternoon had drenched to the skin the regiments 
awaiting under arms the signal for attack. 

In the distance, amid the tempest and the noise of the 
angry waves, the vessels in the harbor creaked, strain- 
ing at their anchors. 

Near a battery, concealed behind a clump of olive-trees, 
Bonaparte, agitated and restless, was pacing to and fro. 

With his eyes turned toward the fort of I’Eguillette, 
he was estimating for the last time the chances of the 
day, when a lieutenant came up : 

Commandant ” 

“ Ah ! is it you, Marmont?” 

“ The howitzers have made a mistake, and gone im- 
prudently near the fort.” 

If they are surprised, everything may be lost ! A 
courier must be sent to them ; bring me a man whom I 
can trust.” 

“Very well, Commandant.” 

Lieutenant Marmont went down the eminence upon 
which Bonaparte’s battery, nicknamed the Tatter- 
demalions, had been stationed and, addressing a group 
of grenadiers who since sunset had been bending their 
backs under the gale, said : 

“Tempest?” 


63 


64 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“Here, Lieutenant.” 

The latter returned to his commander. 

“ Here is my man.” 

The rain was pouring with redoubled violence, and a 
flash of lightning illumined the sk3\ 

The commandant took advantage of it to scan the 
soldier, a young fellow of more than medium height, 
with a face full of frankness and resolution. 

“You are a sergeant of grenadiers?” 

“ Yes, Commandant. Formerly in the volunteers of 
the Cote-d’Or, under Gazette’s orders; promoted to the 
grade of sergeant by my comrades, and nicknamed 
Tempest.” 

“The volunteers of the Cote-d’Or! A handful of 
brave men ! Listen to me attentively. Go down the 
hill and keep straight on. Eight hundred yards from 
here you will find a battery of howitzers. Tell the 
captain that my orders are to draw back immediately 
and conceal the guns wherever he chooses, provided that 
they cannot be seen by the enemy.” 

“Very well, Commandant.” 

“ Wait until I write the order. Now, take off your 
coat.” 

The young sergeant turned as red as a pomegranate ; 
his eyes flashed angrily. 

“ Take off my coat ! I am no spy. Find some one 
else to execute the order.” 

“Do you refuse to obey?” 

“I refuse.” 

“ Do you know to what you expose yourself?” 

“ I do. I will go wherever you send me in my uni- 
form, or I will not go at all. Even that is an honor to 
the English.” 


THE CAPTURE OF TOULON. 


65 


The commandant smiled. 

“But if dawn surprises you, you may be killed.” 

“What do you care? You don’t know me well 
enough to grieve over it. As for me, it’s all the same! 
Come, I’m to go as I am — am I not?” 

“ As you choose, since you are issuing the orders.” 

“You see. Commandant,” said the sergeant, thrusting 
his hand into his cartridge-box, “with these sugar- 
plums, the conversation won’t languish, if yonder 
gentlemen want to do a little talking. I’ll see you 
presently.” 

“Presently.” 

Off went the sergeant, singing. 

“What is that young fellow’s name?” 

“Junot.” 

“ He’ll make his way.” 

Then thunder began to roll, accompanying with its 
bass the uproar of the elements. 

Dawn glimmered in the east. 

Bonaparte embraced at a single glance the scene be- 
fore him : the land between Malbousquet and the redoubt 
of Cairo, the marshes between La Seyne and Gouzian; 
the Las, with its deep bed, nearly dry in spite of the 
storm, and in the distance, in a dim gray light, the 
mountain of Faron, the heights of Cape Brun, and the 
fort of I’Eguillette. 

“Artillerymen, to your guns! Fire!” 

The battery vomited flames — the signal for attack. 

This first discharge was followed by that of a hundred 
pieces of ordnance, stationed on the crest of the hill. 
But the battery of the Tatterdemalions was nearest to 
the fort, so that General O’Hara, who had recently 
come from England to command the garrison, perceived 
5 


66 


THE EOMANCE OF THE SWOKD. 


the danger from the enemy’s fire. Issuing at the head 
of five thousand men, he crossed the Eiver Las under 
the protection of Fort Rouge and the redoubt Blanche, 
then, dividing in halves, attacked on one side the hill 
of Arenes and on the other the different posts occupying 
the valley of Pietaillas. 

“ The wolves have decided to come out of their den!” 
cried Commandant Bonaparte. “ Fire !” 

Then, turning, he exclaimed: “Ah, you are there, 
Junot?” 

“You know my name?” 

“And I shall not forget it. Can you write?” 

“ I was educated at the College of Chatillon-sur-Seine 
with Lieutenant Marmont, and was beginning to study 
law when I enlisted.” 

“ You did well. There will soon be more business for 
soldiers than for lawyers. But can you write well?” 

“ J udge for yourself. ” 

The sergeant wrote the name of Bonaparte. 

“ I’ll take you for my secretary. Sit down. I will 
dictate.” 

Junot sat down on a mound, sheltering himself behind 
some bags. “ I am ready. ” 

“ ‘ To Captaiiji Mouret : Captain, the position I occupy 
permits me to follow the enemy’s movements. They 
are threatening the high road and. the park. Be on 
your guard. Commandant Bonaparte.’ Is it ready?” 

“Ready, Commandant.” 

Napoleon "gave it to one of his men. 

“Quick,. Junot. ‘To Lieutenant Dupuis: Bring the 
scattered battalions to General Dugommier. Com- 
mandant Bonaparte. ’ Quick, quick, J unot ! ‘ To Com- 
mandant ’ What’s that?” 


THE CAPTURE OF TOULOH. 


67 


“ The shell which just burst covered me with dust.” 

“ Are you wounded?” 

“We needed sand to dry the ink. Here it is.” 

“Junot, those words shall be rewarded. But quick, 
quick ! ‘ To Commandant Lauriston : Transport bat- 

teries 6, 7, and 8 on this side of the Croix- Saint- Jacques 
and fire downward. Commandant Bonaparte.’ Dia- 
volo, the English are charging with the bayonet! 
Hurrah, my brave fellows 1” 

He stood erect, with uncovered head, repulsing the 
artillerymen, who entreated him not to expose himself, 
and with outstretched neck and clenched hands followed 
the alternations of the battle. 

Suddenly he uttered an oath and began to soliloquize 
in Corsican, as he formerly did when fighting against 
Paoli. He spoke with startling volubility, overwhelmed 
with indignation at what he saw. 

Some of the light infantry were flying before the 
charge of General O’Hara’s men. 

“Marmont! Marmont! Rush down to those fools. 
Drive them back with your men by blows from the flat 
of your swords !” 

The storm had ceased, the sky was clearing; the mut- 
tering of the thunder was succeeded by the roar of can- 
non and the rattle of firing by platoons. 

The guns of the fleet, firing from the harbor, shook 
the air. 

But they were answered by the French artillery rend- 
ing the atmosphere with still more resonant and joyous 
sounds, the shouts of the attacking troops, the songs of 
those who were waiting. 

“Cease firing!” ordered the commandant. “Junot, 
tell the 5th Grenadiers to come to me.” 


68 


THE EOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


In three seconds the Grenadiers had crossed the strip 
of ground which separated them from the Commandant. 

“ Junot, now bring the Provence volunteers. Quick, 
Junot, quick f Ah, here they are! Your name. 
Captain 1” 

“ Count d’Availlac.” 

“True. I forgot, I who forget nothing. You are 
wearing a parade sword, captain? An embossed blade 
and a diamond in the hilt. I would feed whole regi- 
ments with such a weapon.” 

“ You shall judge what work it can do. Commandant.” 

“ I accept the augury. Junot, I’ll take you with me. 
Grenadiers and volunteers, forward.” 

A loud cheer rose to the sky, in which here and there 
patches of blue appeared. 

Commandant Bonaparte, at the head of his men, went 
down the hill, followed a gully which led. him to the 
enemy, and burst unexpectedly upon General O’Hara’s 
troops. 

At the same instant, Dugommier, summoned by the 
loud beating of the drums, gained the river, which, 
owing to its dry condition, afforded the advantage of a 
covert way, and opposed his forces to the English sail- 
ors who had appeared around the promontory of Cairo. 

The thunder of the artillery on the heights was ter- 
rific. Below the fight was carried on with side-arms. 

The English, assailed in front by Commandant Bona- 
parte, maintained the defence, while Lieutenant Mar- 
mont drove back the whilom fugitives against them, 
and Count d’Availlac hurled the Provence volunteers 
upon the enemy’s flank. 

Suddenly the count found himself face to face with 
General O’Hara, wounded him seriously by a sword- 


THE CAPTURE OF TOULON. 


69 


cut, took him prisoner, and confided him to the care of 
his men. At the same instant, receiving a thrust from 
a bayonet, he uttered a cry and fell. 

Meanwhile Bonaparte had repulsed the English, and 
Dugommier was pursuing the marines. 

Toulon sent out reinforcements to equalize the chances 
of the battle. 

But darkness began to gather, clouds had again ob- 
scured the sky, and a heavy rain was falling. 

The firing ceased, and the troops remained in their 
positions. 

Bonaparte was preparing to encamp, when a group of 
five Representatives approached him. 

“ It has been a hard day. Commandant.” 

“Hard indeed. Citizens, but profitable.” 

“ Do you think so?” 

“ I am sure of it.” 

“General Dugommier seems uncertain.” 

“ He is mistaken.” 

“Will you answer for success?” 

“With my life.” 

“ But the weather?” 

“ The weather is favorable. If the storm lasts they 
cannot get out, and we shall capture them all.” 

The Representatives passed on, and Napoleon, seating 
himself between Junot and Marmont with his head 
bowed on his hands, reflected. 

He was on the eve of testing the efficiency of his plan, 
and only waited for a later hour in the evening. 

He looked up at the sky. It was black as ink, and 
a cold, heavy rain was still falling. The wind had again 
risen to a gale and the sea was roaring. 

When the clock of la Seyne struck ten the Comman- 


70 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


dant divided his forces into two columns, which at once 
began to march. 

One was to attack the fort of I’Eguillette in front, the 
other, led by Commandant Bonaparte, would pass along 
the wall to scale a strongly fortified eminence in the 
rear. 

The two columns tore up the palisades, removed the 
felled trees, and climbed the height. The rain was 
pouring with redoubled violence, the men slipped on the 
clayey soil. Under the fire of the English cannon 
sweeping the ravine, they reached the foot of the re- 
doubt, where an epaulement eighteen feet high, defended 
by constant cross-firing, presented an apparently in- 
surmountable obstacle. 

“ To the embrasures !” shouted the commandant. 

And directly after the nearest gun had discharged its 
contents he sprang forward, followed by the soldiers, 
who, climbing one above another, passed through the 
embrasures and leaped down inside. 

There was a hand-to-hand conflict. 

The English had placed madriers across the fort, from 
behind which they poured a terrible fire of musketry. 

The commandant had reached the foot of the epaule- 
ment. 

“ Axes !” cried a voice. 

“Is it you, Junot?” 

“Yes, Commandant.” 

“ Axes !” he again shouted. 

The call was heard. Lieutenant Marmont’s company 
had the axes, and the madriers were cut away. 

“Climb on my shoulders. Commandant! Are you 
there?” 

“Yes, Tempest!” 


THE CAPTURE OF TOULOK. 


71 


Then followed a terrible battle with side arms amidst 
the increasing fury of the storm, a confusion of bodies, 
a medley of weapons, a mass of shrieking wounded 
men and mangled dead. 

The French soldiers advanced through bloody mire. 
The English were soon outflanked and Commandant 
Bonaparte triumphed. 

Amid the terrible darkness and the pealing thunder 
a blaze of light appeared, illuminating the scene of 
conflict. The arsenal, the dockyards, and the vessels 
in the port were in flames. Twenty frigates in the 
roadstead were on fire. The English were burning 
everything that they were obliged to abandon. 

And against the glare of this conflagration the sharp 
profile of Commandant Bonaparte stood forth in strong 
relief, like the genius of War in an apotheosis. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


BOURBONS AND BONAPARTE. 

Day dawned upon an extinct brazier. 

The men accompanying the ambulances were counh 
ing the dead and picking up the wounded. 

There were many victims among the Provence volun' 
teers who rushed upon General O’Hara’s regiment. 

They lay heaped together, with their faces upturned 
to the sky, in a narrow gorge between the river and 
lofty boulders, still dripping with moisture after the 
storm of the preceding night. 

At noon the last cacolets, bearing their melancholy 
burden, were leaving the ravine when a voice called for 
aid. 

It came from a hollow in the crag beneath which the 
wounded man had sought shelter, climbing high enough 
to be out of reach of the trampling of the combatants. 

“Help! I am parched with thirst! Help!” 

It was Count d’Availlac. 

His right hand still grasped his sword; his left was 
pressed upon his gaping wound in the bowels. 

“ Help ! I am thirsty !” 

After having dragged himself to this fepot the count 
fainted from exhaustion. 

For a moment he thought that he heard voices and 
tried to shout; then commending his soul to God, he 
again lost consciousness. 


72 


BOURBONS AND BONAPARTE. 


73 


“Help! Water!” 

Seeing a pool of water a few paces off, he endeavored 
to crawl to it on his knees, but the puddle which reflected 
a bit of the sky, now once more blue, seemed to recede 
as he moved. 

Making one last effort he reached it, and had already 
moistened his lips when a large stone fell into the midst 
of the water. 

The sky vanished, and black mud rose in its place. 

The count sighed heavily and his head drooped till 
his face touched the mire. 

A man came leaping down the rocks. The sides of 
his cloak fell back and he drew them together to conceal 
two pistols thrust into his belt. 

Going up to the wounded man, he bent over him, 
pressed his ear to his chest, drew out a pistol, cocked it, 
then changed his mind and waited. 

The count opened his eyes and exclaimed with terror : 
“ Saint-Rejant !” 

Saint-Rejant feared that the cry might have been 
heard, but was soon reassured. 

It was too faint, a,nd solitude surrounded them. 

“He himself. Count d’Availlac.” 

The count, with the aid of his elbows, turned on his 
side and looked at the man in whom he had divined the 
presence of an enemy. 

“ If you had no other object than to learn how a gen- 
tleman dies for his native land,” murmured the wounded 
man feebly, “I advise you to reflect upon the example.” 

“ Do you expect a priest?” 

“No.” 

“ Do you wish me to confess you ?” 

“No.” 


74 : THE ROMAKCE OF THE SWORD. 

“ After having deserted your party, would you deny 
your God?” 

“ God does not need your intercession to pardon the 
sins I have committed.” 

“ In that case, the sin of not dying in a state of grace 
will be yours alone.” 

He took his pistol again. 

“ What do you intend to do?” 

“ To kill you.” 

“ I thought so. I thank you !” 

Saint-Rejant cocked his pistol a second time, and was 
about to discharge it when he again looked at the 
count. 

A torrent of blood had just flowed from his wound, 
and he lay motionless, with closed eyes, apparently 
dead. 

“Will luck spare me a crime?” murmured Saint- 
Rejant. 

He listened again to be sure that the wounded man’s 
heart had ceased to beat. 

Two different sounds were heard. 

At one end of the gorge twelve grenadiers had 
stopped to wait for the corporal to assign them their 
place in the main guard; from the other Comman- 
dant Bonaparte was approaching with three surgeons. 

He had wished to ascertain for himself the number of 
the dead and wounded, attend to the burial of the 
former, and console the latter. 

Saint-Rejant, seeing no egress, discovered the hollow 
in which the count had hidden himself and sprang into 
it. 

The commandant advanced a few steps farther and 
stopped ; he had seen the wounded man. 


BOURBONS AND BONAPARTE. 75 

Another poor fellow forgotten. One of the brave 
Provence volunteers ! Raise him.” 

Then, kneeling at his side, he exclaimed: 

“I know that face. Count d’Availlac! Quick, 
gentlemen.” 

“ Drink ! Help ! Commandant Bonaparte !” 

“Give him drink.” 

A surgeon took his calabash, but Napoleon snatched 
it from his hand and raised it himself to the count’s lips. 

“Well?” 

“Well, Commandant, there is no hope.” 

Nevertheless, the three surgeons examined the wound. 
When it was over the commandant gave them a ques- 
tioning look and read in their answering glances that 
aid was useless. 

“There is no hope. Commandant. But I swore to 
you that I would do my duty. I have fulfilled it to the 
end. I shall die happy, since it is for France. Gen- 
eral O’Hara is a prisoner. Oh, how I suffer!” 

A stream of blood flowed from his lips, and five min- 
utes passed without any sign of consciousness, then he 
again strove to speak. 

“They tried to kill me. A man named Saint- 
Rejant. He was here just now. Search — search 
closely — there — there !” 

“He is raving,” said one of the surgeons. “This is 
the end. No. He is recovering his senses.” 

“ Commandant, I wish to speak to you before I die. 
Privately. ” 

The surgeons withdrew, and Count d’Availlac half 
raised himself : 

“Commandant, I am dying. I leave a son: Jean. 
He has no other name. I commend him to your care. 


76 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Oh, this agony of pain! If I can only finish my story. 
There is something else, Commandant. You see this 
sword, this parade sword as you called it yesterday. It 
has its history — I must tell you. Heaven will not suffer 
me to. die before! Come near me! Nearer still — my 
breath is failing. Commandant, a few months ago, I 
accompanied Count d’ Artois to St. Petersburg, where 
he went to solicit the intervention of the Empress Cath- 
arine II. As we were retiring from our farewell audi- 
ence, where she stood in all her splendor surrounded by 
her court, she came forward to Count d’Artois and 
said : ‘Prince, here is a sword which belonged to Henri 
IV. He wore it at the siege of Rouen. I present it to 
you, feeling sure that you will perish rather than delay 
using it !’ The prince received it like a man who in- 
tended to do nothing with it, and a few weeks ago 
pawned it to a London Jew. When I learned that the 
sword of Henri IV. might be turned against France, I 
waited for the person who was to redeem it; I provoked 
a quarrel, killed him, and the time for which it was 
pledged having expired, I bought the weapon, for I had 
sworn that the sword of Henri IV. should never serve 
England. Commandant, before dying, I could not 
place it in more loyal hands. In memory of a victory 
whose honor will be yours, I give you ” 

The young officer took the sword and, turning it 
toward England, answered : 

“ Count d’Availlac, I swear to use it against a race 
which I detest and enemies I hate. ” 

“ I know it — I — Commandant, I am stifling !” 

“Quick, help!” 

“I am stifling! — Jean! — The Jew! — The Prince! — 
The sword ! — Hurrah for France !” 


BOURBONS AND BONAPARTE. 


77 


“Commandant,” said one of the surgeons, “he is 
dead !” 

“ Remove this brave man’s body, gentlemen. I will 
act as escort. To-morrow, in the presence of my artil- 
lerymen, the grenadiers, and volunteers, we will pay 
him military honors.” 

As the funeral procession moved away, Saint-Rejant 
emerged from his den. 

Just at that moment the sky was illumined with a 
radiant glow, and, like a jackal surprised by the light, 
the accomplice of Count d’ Artois stood motionless a 
few instants as if dazzled. 


PAET I. 

THE BETROTHAL GIFT. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE RESTAURANT OF THE THREE MILE-STONES. 

Early in the year 1795 the restaurant of the Three 
Mile-Stones, situated in the Rue de Valois, was one of 
the most frequented in Paris by shopkeepers and 
clerks. 

The house where it was located belonged to the set of 
buildings which supply historians with the means of 
reconstructing ancient Paris. Imagine a three-story 
shed, made of cement and wood, surmounted with a 
triangular roof pierced by nine windows placed one 
above another in groups of three. In the ground floor 
a door of Norman style, framed between two bay win- 
dows, behind which, from morning until the late hour 
of closing, are displayed meats, vegetables, preserves, 
and fruits, everything to tempt the appetite of the pass- 
ing throng. Above the door are painted three mile- 
stones to warrant the sign, on whose left is the name of 
Blaise, on the right that of Pichoux. 

Tables and chairs stand on the sidewalk. Within is 
a very large room, around which forty tables, each 
capable of accommodating four persons, are ready to 

78 


KESTAUKANT OF THE THREE MILE-STONES. 79 

receive customers. In the centre is a plaster statue of 
Brutus, surrounded by cold dishes. At the end a door 
with small tri-colored curtains opens into the kitchen. 
Lastly, in the second story are rooms for wedding 
parties, banquets, and entertainments for political 
purposes. 

The Three Mile-Stones owed its reputation, let us 
add, to Madame Pichoux’s table. 

Madame Pichoux, who had been married four years, 
a pretty little dumpling of a woman with glossy 
brown hair, long-lashed black eyes, and a mouth con- 
stantly wreathed with smiles, less to display a row of 
beautiful teeth than because her disposition was always 
happy and cheerful, had put on the breeches — to use a 
vulgar expression — the week after her wedding day. 

She owed this advantage to several causes. 

First, her energy. Madame Pichoux, Rose Pichoux, 
was the first person to rise in the morning, the first to 
light the fires. Then, aided by a man cook and two 
maid-servants, she was the only person in the quarter 
who was able to truss a chicken a la Robespierre or to 
baste a bit of beef with “ Conventional sauce.” No one 
could compete with her in making out a bill. Nobod}^ 
could have possessed to the same degree what she called 
“a nose for customers,” knowing exactly to whom to 
refuse credit and with whom to open an account, with- 
out ever having had cause to regret it. 

Finally, there was the chief reason which insured 
the permanence of her supremacy — her husband’s 
character. 

Not that Blaise Pichoux was devoid of intelligence or 
afflicted with laziness, but he was devoured by am- 
bition. At that period, perhaps even more than in our 


80 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWOKD. 


own day, if possible, politics paved the way to every- 
thing : honors, offices, fortune, and even the guillotine. 
Politics absorbed Pichoux’s time. Did Madame Pi- 
choux commit the imprudence of consulting her husband 
about market prices? Pichoux answered out of the 
leading article in the Moniteur. Did Madame Pichoux 
trust him to stir a sauce? Pichoux, absorbed in read- 
ing a speech made at some club the evening before, let 
it burn. Did Madame Pichoux ask him to settle the 
account of some guest who was inclined to make love 
to her? Pichoux gave him back too much change, all 
owing to being engrossed by the last decree of the 
Convention. 

Pichoux was not merely a spectator of events. The 
part would not have satisfied his hopes. He was an 
actor in them. Pichoux gladly made a motion at pub- 
lic meetings, and, if necessary, defended it against his 
neighbor’s for an hour. Pichoux harangued in the 
squares whenever events, which succeeded one another 
so rapidly at this epoch, afforded him an opportunity. 
Pichoux mingled with the mobs, followed the manifes- 
tations. Finally, which was a more serious matter, 
Pichoux conspired. 

Who would have suspected it, from his red, jovial 
face, corpulent figure, and heavy, awkward gestures? 
Pichoux had conspired against the legislative body be- 
cause it had not distinguished him, had offered him no 
position, granted him no favor. He conspired against 
the Convention to satisfy the same grievances and con- 
sequently the same grudges. He plotted with the 
royalists. 

Thanks to Thermidor, by the opening of the prisons 
of the Republic, a number of royalists had returned to 


RESTAURANT OF THE THREE MILE-STONES. 81 

the arena of politics and, aided by some Montagnards* 
who desired to have their revolutionary enthusiasm for- 
gotten by sheltering it under fresh extravagances, put 
themselves at the head of the Reaction. Pichoux had 
made the acquaintance of several of the men by enter- 
taining them at his house, and followed in their wake. 
Madame Pichoux had often pointed out the peril of such 
an amusement, but as Pichoux obstinately persisted in 
it, she let it pass, saying to the neighbors when they 
alluded to the matter : 

“ Pshaw ! Reasoning with a deaf man is like giving 
a shoulder of mutton to a sick horse. And then, I 
know Pichoux. He pretends to be bold, but he has 
a supply of caution, not to call it cowardice, which 
would make him reflect when the time came that he 
was obliged to advance too far.” 

We can now understand the ease with which Madame 
Pichoux was mistress in her own house, and why her 
customers, instead of saying, “ I am going to the Three 
Mile-Stones, to Pichoux’s,” merely said: “I am going 
to Madame Pichoux’s.” 

Yet on this day Madame Pichoux thought that her 
husband was somewhat exaggerating his uselessness. 

Not only was the terrace full of customers, not only 
were all the tables inside filled, but the banquet hall had 
been engaged the evening before by half a score of citi- 
zens who did not seem easy to please, and whose arrival 
might be expected at any moment. 

Finally, a few days ago, Madame Pichoux had prom- 
ised to serve a dinner herself at the other end of Paris, and 
she would not have broken her engagement for the world- 

* Ardent democrats of the Convention and of the National 
Assembly. 

6 


82 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


With a napkin on her arm and her hands on her hips, 
she stood gazing down the street, when she felt some 
one clasp her round the waist, and turned quickly with 
uplifted hand. 

“ What, Caligula, do you dare to take these liberties 
again?” 

“Certainly, citizeness.” 

“And by what right?” 

“I’ll tell you, Citizeness Pichoux. I am a believer 
in equality, a thorough believer. I recognize no nobil- 
ity, I have forgotten the clergy, and I don’t remember 
that anything ever existed except the Third Estate, to 
which I belong.” 

“What has that to do with it?” 

“You shall know. As a believer in equality I have 
a right to aspire to everything : to becoming a member 
of the Convention, etc., etc. Isn’t that so?” 

“ I don’t dispute it. But, once more, I don’t see ” 

“Wait a bit. You go faster than the fiddles. From 
the moment I can aspire to everything, charming Citi- 
zeness Pichoux, can you explain by what overthrow of 
the established order of things I should not have the 
right of succeeding your husband in your heart? Tell 
me that !” 

Madame Pichoux was disconcerted for a moment, 
then beginning to laugh, she exclaimed: “You are 
too ridiculous, Caligula! One really can’t get angry 
with you. What do you want?” 

“I would willingly aspire to a solid meal. Bread 
and ham, for instance. With a tumblerful of wine to 
wash it down.” 

“Have you any money?” 

Caligula showed his pocket. 


EESTAURANT OF THE THREE MILE-STOHES. 


83 


“ Enough to make proposals to all the actresses in the 
Theatre Moliere.” 

“ Then you shall be served, you good-for-nothing 
fellow.” 

After casting another glance down the street she en- 
tered the restaurant, and Caligula sat down, his body 
bent forward, his legs crossed, his arms swinging, 
humming : 


“ Some rascals of late 
Have come to the front, 

But good fellows at once 
Cracked them over the pate 1 
To bring them to reason, 

They cudgelled in season. 

What good-luck ! Ho, ho ! 

What good-luck !” 

By the time the verse was finished Caligula’s meal 
was brought. 

In repeating his profession of faith to the landlady of 
the Three Mile-Stones, Caligula was not merely seeking 
to utter a witticism ; he was sincere. 

At fourteen — he did not then call himself Caligula — 
Prosper Maraton was the very type of the Parisian ap- 
prentice. A journeyman printer, he entertained the 
office by his marvellous tales and deafened it with his 
songs. When the revolution of 1789 broke out he 
chose the name of Caligula, which he had learned by 
composing Monsieur Rollin’s Roman History, threw 
his paper cap to the dogs, and resolved to do nothing, 
certain that in a time of absolute equality it was the 
workmen’s turn to rest. Caligula was the more de- 
lighted with his new condition because he knew how to 
turn it to account, practising the thousand -and-one little 


84 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWOllD. 


ways of getting a living in which the city urchin, 
whose wits are sharpened by revolutions, so easily excels 
so long as he does not consider them a regular calling. 
He grew up in comparative idleness, imbued more than 
ever with doctrines of equality, never lost an opportunity 
of praising and applying them, and reached the age of 
twenty, satisfied with his fate and sure of the future. 
At that time he distributed the Postillion from nine in 
the morning till two in the afternoon, a situation by no 
means fatiguing and sufficiently lucrative. And for 
six years he had usually sat on the* terrace of the Three 
Mile-Stones, awaiting the day when equality of fortune 
should agree with that of rank, and he could pass 
through the door leading into the restaurant and en- 
joy, like so many others, the cooking of Mme. Rose 
Pichoux. 

Caligula shook his head — his hair was arranged a la 
Titus — fairly bubbling over with the sly humor re- 
fiected in his little cat-like eyes, suggested by his 
trumpet-shaped nose, and emphasized by his mocking 
lips ; he was stretching his long, lank body, his hands 
thrust into the pockets of a blue cloth coat, which dated 
from the time of the States-General, and whose scanti- 
ness of sleeves and skirts proved a former ownership, 
when a man said : 

“Citizen, all the tables are taken. You are alone, 
will you permit me to sit at yours?” 

“Equality for all,” replied Caligula, signing to him 
to do so. 

The man sat down. 

Caligula looked at him and muttered : “ A devil of a 

face !” 

A devil of a face indeed ! He might have been fifty 


RESTAUBAKT OP THE THREE MILE-STOKES. 85 

years old, but looked sixty, his hair and beard were so 
white, his eyes so glassy, his mouth was so withered, 
his cheeks were so wrinkled, and his body, formerly 
robust, was so bowed and trembling. Everything in 
his appearance revealed suffering and rebellion. 

He was dressed like the sailors in commercial parts, 
only somewhat more shabbily. 

Madame Pichoux came out, more vexed with her 
husband than ever. 

“Ah! is it you, Kerouan?” 

“I myself, Madame Pichoux. Can I have some 
wine?” 

“ One bottle, and no more. Because, you know, you 
are doing worse and worse. And Charlotte?” 

“Charlotte? She is at work. ” 

“ Still at the milliner’s?” 

“ I believe so.” 

“What do you believe?” 

“I believe she is. Because — because I don’t care, 
provided she lets me alone.” 

“ Come, come, don’t get angry. Charlotte is a good 
little girl, the very one I should like if Monsieur 
Pichoux didn’t sacrifice his home to his abominable 
politics. ” 

“ Well, no matter about Charlotte. I asked you for 
some wine.” 

“ It will be brought presently.” 

Caligula, continuing his soliloquy, muttered : 

“ A devil of a temper !” 

Then he began : 

“ Some rascals of late, — ” 


and whistled the rest. 


86 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Madame Pichoux having served the man she called 
Kerouan, Caligula, more and more puzzled, could not 
resist his desire to make his acquaintance. 

“Good wine, isn’t it, citizen?” 

Kerouan raised his head. 

“Good enough.” 

“ Are you a sailor?” 

“ I have been.” 

“And now?” 

Kerouan looked at him. “ What’s that to you?” 

“Oh, I asked just as I would ask any other question. 
For the sake of conversation.” 

“ I work in the neighborhood of Paris. I mend boats, 
manage pleasure-craft, act as ferryman. One must 
make a living.” 

“ Especially when he has a family.” 

Kerouan frowned and muttered : 

“Pshaw! family!” 

“ Didn’t Madame Pichoux inquire about your daugh- 
ter just now?” 

“ What does that prove?” 

“What does that prove? It proves, anyhow, that 
Madame Kerouan has made you a father !” 

The old sailor suddenly set the tumbler he was hold- 
ing heavily on the table, and bit his lips to keep back a 
reply which was about to escape them. 

“Seafaring is a good trade,” Caligula went on, feel- 
ing the desirability of changing the conversation. 
“ Especially now that a man can be whatever he chooses, 
even admiral ! For at last it is the turn of those who 
were at the capstan under the tyrant. I should have 
liked to travel. Before the new state of affairs I was a 
printer. My employer had a brother in the coasting 


RESTAURANT OF THE THREE MILE-STONES. 87 

trade. One day he came back with a negress whom he 
had just married in Guadeloupe ” 

“If you listen to him, Kerouan,” said Madame 
Pichoux, who had just come out for the third time to 
look down the street, “you’ll be here to-morrow.” 

Caligula -thought he could emphasize the emptiness of 
the remark by singing : 

“ When the nobleman to prison is sent, 

By black remorse his heart is rent, 

And plunges him in woe ; 

When the xjatriot’s doomed to a gloomy cell. 

His soul in calm serene doth dwell. 

Which comfort doth bestow. ” 

And perhaps he was not wrong in making the re- 
proach, for not only had Kerouan ceased listening to 
him but he had just placed on the table the price of his 
bottle of wine, and was preparing to depart with a face 
even more gloomy than when he came. 

When be had gone Caligula said to Madame Pichoux, 
who was standing on tiptoe to see farther : 

“Who is that odd stick, Citizeness Pichoux?” 

“ A poor fellow who lives close by here, and w’hose 
bad temper might pass for sorrow if it did not find vent 
now and then on his daughter’s shoulders.” 

“Does he beat her?” 

“ He pummels her to a mummy.” 

“And the girl doesn’t protest? In these times of 
equality !” 

“The girl hangs her head and weeps.” 

“ Is she pretty?” 

“That’s nothing to. you, Caligula. Ah! here’s Pi- 
choux. Now we’ll have a laugh !” 


88 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Pichoux was really in sight at the end of the street. 

He came forward, bending under the weight of piles 
of documents and talking to himself with the animation 
of a man making a stand against a meeting. 

When he reached his house he raised his eyes. See- 
ing Madame Pichoux directly in front of him with 
folded arms and threatening air, he suddenly inter- 
rupted his speech and said uneasily : 

“ Good-morning, my little Rose. ” 

“ Don’t say good-morning to me, sir. I want no good- 
mornings. Where have you been?” 

“I’ll tell you.” 

“ Make haste then.” 

“ I can’t talk with you in the public street.” 

“Follow me.” 

“Gladly.” 

Madame Pichoux went back into the hall and ascended 
a winding staircase leading to their chamber. 

“First get rid of all those papers, which make you 
look like a ragpicker, and then answer me. Where 
have you been?” 

“ To a meeting.” 

“ I thought so. What meeting?” 

“ A royalist meeting. ” 

“ So you’ve decided to be a royalist.” 

“Yes, Madame Pichoux, a royalist to the very soul. 
Louis XVII. is dead. The Regent has assumed the 
title of Louis XVIIL Count d’ Artois is Monsieur ” 

“We know all that iust as well as you do. What 
then?” 

“What then? We wish to have King Louis XVIII. 
make a triumphal entry into Paris.” 

“And then?” 


KESTAURANT OF THE THREE MILE-STOHES. 89 

“Then? Perhaps royalty will be less ungrateful to 
me than the Republic.” 

“What place do you intend to ask of royalty? Am- 
bassador to Vienna, no doubt?” 

“ Why not? Though I should prefer to be chief of 
the royal cooks.” 

“Ambassador to Vienna or chief of the royal cooks; 
you’ll always be a plain fool, Monsieur Pichoux.” 

“ Madame Pichoux !” 

“ Oh ! you needn’t open your eyes at me, I don’t care : 
you have no shame! After being laughed at by the 
Revolution and by the Republic you want to give the 
Reaction a chance to ridicule you too. And meanwhile 
Pm obliged to do everything, watch everything, attend 
to everything, I must be in the cellar and the garret, on 
the terrace and in the kitchen. And I’m expecting the 
guests for the banquet on the second floor ; it’s growing 
late, and you know that I have a dinner to serve at the 
Marais ” 

“To-day?” 

“ Good gracious, yes !” 

“ Then who will attend to the house while you are 
away?” 

“You.” 

“ I have a speech to prepare.” 

“ You’ll prepare it while you are stirring your sauces, 
waiting on your customers, attending for once to your 
establishment. Perhaps you’ll obtain in that way the 
inspiration you lack both as an orator and a husband.” 

Sensitive to this last reproach, Pichoux was on the 
point of smiling, when a suspicion suddenly entered his 
mind. 

“ May I know for whom this dinner is to be served?” 


90 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“ General Bonaparte.” 

“ A man without a penny.” 

“ But who can be trusted.” 

“ Why, Madame Pichoux, only a person as ignorant 
of foreign politics as youiself would think of opening 
an account with a soldier who may be killed like a rab- 
bit to-morrow ! Without considering that if my party 
should discover that Pichoux’s wife favored one of the 
most zealous defenders of the Republic it might seri- 
ously compromise me.” 

“ A terrible misfortune !” 

“ To say nothing ” 

“ Go on !” 

“ Of my suspecting that you have a very special lik- 
ing for this general.” 

“Are you jealous, Pichoux?” 

“ What if I should be?” 

“ Why, you would watch 3^our wife, instead of sacri- 
ficing her to your follies. But we have wasted time 
enough. Change 3^our Vendean hat for your baker’s 
cap; put on a round jacket instead of that coat; get an 
apron and become the landlord of the Three Mile-Stones 
again. Come, quick, quick! It’s nearly six o’clock.” 

Madame Pichoux went downstairs, gave the neces- 
sary directions to the employees, telling them that her 
husband would take her place for a few hours, and then 
went to the kitchen to superintend the general’s dinner 
herself ; finally, Pichoux having made his appearance, 
she took advantage of it to return to her room, where, 
having locked herself in, she rushed at the papers. 

Madame Pichoux felt certain that they contained 
nothing of importance, and a few minutes’ examination 
verified the belief. There were only newspapers, old 


RESTAURANT OF THE THREE MILE-STONES. 91 

proclamations, prospectuses, and outlines of speeches. 
But Madame Pichoux had one fault as inveterate in her 
character as ambition was in her husband’s : curiosity. 
She was as inquisitive as the most prying cat. Did she 
have a new customer? She wanted to know his entire 
history from the day of his birth. Did she meet a 
neighbor? She questioned her until she knew every- 
thing that was said in the quarter, and even some things 
which were not. Was she invited to a friend’s house? 
She rummaged in every corner. Her conversation con- 
sisted entirely of questions. 

“Why? Where? Whence did it come? What is 
he doing? For what reason? To what purpose? 
What did you say? What then?” 

Let us hasten to add that if chance, gratifying her 
failing, had made her aware of a fact that might injure 
any one, she would have been incapable of taking ad- 
vantage of it, her kindness being fully equal to her 
unconquerable desire to know everything. 

She put the papers in order again, and dressed, a 
process which consisted merely in smoothing her hair, 
passing her thumbs over her eyebrows, and putting on 
a white cap and a fresh petticoat. Yet quickly as she 
made her toilet, any husband would have had a right 
to be uneasy. In the first place because she was really 
very pretty, with her little cap like those worn by the 
knitters, and her changeable silk skirt. She had roguish 
eyes, a neat figure, and a well-shaped leg. Secondly, 
because she was taking a great deal of trouble for a sol- 
dier. So Pichoux did not like it. 

When his wife appeared, putting on her mittens, he 
growled : 

“If your Monsieur Bonaparte should ever try to 


92 THE ROMANCE Of THE SWORD. 

amuse himself by jesting too familiarly, I’d pull his 
ears, general though he is. Oh ” 

And in order not to have his jealousy excited further, 
he turned his back on his wife, upon the pretence of 
going into the hall. 

Meanwhile, an under-cook led up to the front of the 
restaurant a little donkey-cart in which the dinner was 
placed in chafing-dishes. 

Madame Pichoux, laughing at the industry feigned 
by her husband to suppress an outbreak of anger, gave 
the waiter some last orders about the banquet on the 
second floor, and was just getting into the cart when 
Caligula rushed up. 

“ Will you allow me to help you, citizeness?” 

“Why, certainly, my dear duke,” she answered 
merrily. . 

Putting her foot on the step she entered the cart, sat 
down, took the reins, and, dealing the donkey a blow 
with the cudgel, cried : 

“ Get up, little jackass !” 

The title shocked Caligula’s principles of quality. In 
republics donkeys have always taken precedence of 
horses. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE BLACK CROSS. 

The Coalition was pursuing its work. England, in 
her terror of the Revolution, continued to be its soul. 

Besides her sacrifices in men and money, she used her 
influence over Holland, which was still under her yoke, 
by means of the Prince of Orange, compelling that 
country to furnish its contingent to the Army of the 
North. She persuaded Prussia to turn her arms against 
France by making that the sole condition of furnishing 
the subsidies necessary to put down the insurrection in 
Poland. She convinced Austria of the necessity of 
avenging the death of Marie Antoinette, paid diplomats 
whose mission consisted in rousing Naples, obtaining 
at least the neutrality of Rome, securing the power of 
Paoli in Corsica, and maintaining the spirit of dispar- 
agement which animated the court of Spain. 

England possessed three more allies : Count d’ Artois, 
who had now become Monsieur, still in London, from 
which city he corresponded with the Vendean and 
Breton insurgents; the army of Conde, whose different 
bodies acted with the allied armies; and Louis XVIII., 
who had taken refuge in Venice. 

Lastly she maintained at her own expense through- 
out France agencies, which were daily increased by the 
efforts of the six principal leaders: Messieurs de La- 
villeheurnois, Duverne de Presles, the Abbe Brottier, 
93 


94 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Chevalier d’Espomelles, and the Lemaitre brothers. 
The mission of these subdivided agencies was to cen- 
tralize orders, organize conspiracies, and recruit parti- 
sans. 

The most active among them was known by the name 
of the Black Cross. Its leader was Saint-Rejant, and 
his principal associates were Messieurs d’Entraigues, 
d’Antichamp, de Bourmont, de Chatillon, whom the 
reader has already met in London, and a lieutenant of 
cavalry, named Hippolyte Charles. 

The latter, who lived by his wits, had been induced 
to join it less from horror of the Revolution than the 
hope of profiting by the subsidies granted. 

He was a man about thirty years of age, who spent 
part of his days in justifying his reputation for gallan- 
try, and the remainder in contracting debts. He owed 
this reputation to an extreme care of his person, elegant 
manners, and some natural advantages; an attractive 
face, large black eyes, a straight nose, a handsome 
mouth, a finely-formed figure, and well-shaped legs. 
His mania for running into debt he inherited from his 
relations. 

These party leaders of the Black Cross were to meet 
on the second story, of the Three Mile-Stones. They 
were ‘‘ the guests for the banquet on the second floor,” 
as Madame Pichoux said. 

Various motives had induced them to select this spot: 
first, they liked to change their places of meeting lest 
they should attract the attention of the police ; and sec- 
ondly, the customers who usually patronized the Three 
Mile-Stones were a guarantee of immunity . 

Madame Pichoux, belaboring her donkey, had scarcely 
turned the corner of the Rue de Valois; Caligula, who 


THE BLACK CROSS. 


95 


had just made up his mind to utilize the small sum of 
money he had left in applauding Papesse Jeanne, had 
hardly entered the garden of the Palais Royal, when 
Saint-Rejant went into the Three Mile-Stones, and was 
soon followed by the other guests. 

Pichoux received them and ushered them to the room 
which they had engaged. 

“Citizens, what will you have? Carp a la Brutus? 
A famous dish in this house. We have chicken a la 
Mirabeau, veal with sauce egalite, beef a la Marseil- 
laise, green peas with butter d’aristocrates, and 
souffle ” 

He did not finish the sentence. He had just recog- 
nized Monsieur Charles, whom he had seen several times 
at the meetings, where his attitude sufflciently indi- 
cated his tendencies. 

Pichoux remained silent, perceiving that he had just 
committed a succession of blunders. 

“A truce to metaphors; bring us whatever you 
choose,” said Saint-Rejant. 

“ Agreed,” replied Pichoux, muttering curses upon the 
names his wife had given to the dishes in her bill of 
fare. 

He went downstairs murmuring: “If my house 
should become a centre? What a future !” 

When he entered the room below he threw a napkin, 
as if by accident, over the statue of Brutus. 

A few minutes after he returned, announcing “ Carp, 
sauce Henry IV.” 

Conversation soon began, turning upon a hundred 
different subjects. 

Monsieur d’Entraigues, alluding to Andre Chenier, 
said that the woman who had inspired the Young Cap- 


96 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


tive was Madame Aimee de Coigny, daughter of Count 
de Coigny, younger brother of the Duke. 

“Zelia, Nigretta, the Moon, as she was nicknamed, 
married first the Duke de Fleury, from whom she was 
divorced two years ago to marry Montrond, whom she 
knew at St. Lazare, and from whom she was divorced 
eight months later. I met her several times at Madame 
de Guemenee’s, where one evening, on being dared to 
do it, she removed the skirt of her dress, turned up her 
petticoat, and sat in a little short dimity skirt, on which 
hung her two pockets.” 

“By the way,” said Monsieur d’ Antichamp, “do you 
know the new story?” 

He stopped a moment — Pichoux was just coming in. 

“ Chicken a la Conde !” 

When he had gone out again, d’Antichamp went on: 

“The most comical story. Last week Madame de 
Coislin was summoned by the chief of police, who, it 
seems, treated her most cavalierly. At last she resolved 
to ask the reason for the summons. ‘Your sister,’ he 
began, ‘is a very imprudent woman. She makes 

speeches ’ Madame de Coislin did not let him finish : 

‘My sister imprudent? Oh, sir, you evidently don’t 
know her. Who told you that? Why, she is so cow- 
ardly that if she were in my place, treated by you as I 
am now, she would not even dare to tell you that you 
are insolent. ’ ” 

Shouts of laughter greeted this anecdote. 

“ And the chief of police?” asked Monsieur de Bour- 
mont. 

“The chief of police granted her everything she 
desired.” 

Pichoux entered : 


THE BLACK CROSS. 


97 


“VealarAnglaise!” 

Pichoux’s pompous tone induced Monsieur de Chatil- 
lon to ask : 

“Oho! Just now you were announcing carp a la 
Brutus, chicken a la Miraheau, sauce egalite ” 

“ Gentlemen,” said Pichoux, addressing himself to the 
whole company, “ I beg you to excuse me. A restau- 
rant-keeper must keep up with his times ! But, under 
the restaurant-keeper, there is the man ” 

“You are too sharp for us, my fine fellow!” inter- 
rupted Saint-Rejant. “ There are some customers who 
don’t like that sort of thing.” 

Pichoux tried to stammer a few words, bowed, and 
went out, biting his tongue. 

It was Monsieur Charles’ turn to pay his score. 

He related the story of a love intrigue, without men- 
tioning the heroine’s name, but in a way that allowed 
them to guess that he was its hero. 

“ There was a charming woman in England named 
Miss Alcox, who had for a suitor a great fox-hunter and 
for a lover — call him any name you choose. One day 
the suitor ordered a gold cup, which was to be won at 
the races by the swiftest horse and offered to Miss Alcox, 
and then paid ten thousand pounds for a blooded horse. 
The lover entered his mare, ridden by an expert. She 
won the cup, and the lover presented it to Miss Alcox 
under the nose of the future husband.” 

But his companions were no longer listening. Pi- 
choux had just served the dessert and received orders 
not to come in again until he was called. 

The time for business had come. 

Saint-Rejant, who from the beginning of the meal 
had paid little attention to the conversation of the 


98 


THE ROMANCE OE THE SWORD. 


guests, through antipathy to anything which could 
divert his attention from his own gloomy mood, waited 
for silence to be restored. 

He was just about to speak, when a child was heard 
singing outside. 

“Monsieur d’Antichamp,” he said, “isn’t that a child 
asking for alms?” 

Monsieur d’ Antichamp, whose back was turned to the 
window, rose and opened it. 

“Yes, a poor little girl not ten years old.” 

Saint- Rejant rose also and, leaning out, said : “ Here’s 
a franc for you, little one. Pray to the good God for 
the man who gave it to you.” 

He was visibly agitated when he returned to his seat. 

The incident did not escape the notice of the guests. 
No one would have expected such tenderness from this 
man. 

Resuming his seat, after having shut the window, he 
began : 

“ Gentlemen, I received this morning a new manifesto 
from the King. He says in it that the impenetrable 
purposes of Providence have transmitted to him, with 
the crown, the necessity of snatching France from 
anarchy. He states that his subjects, having been 
faithless to the God of our fathers, have been made to 
feel the weight of His anger; that these same subjects 
having been faithless to the authority established to 
govern them, a bloody despotism has constantly rent 
them with ever-increasing fury. His heritage, he adds, 
has become the spoil of these robbers from the instant 
the throne became the prey of usurpers ; servitude and 
tyranny have oppressed us from the hour that the royal 
authority ceased to cover us with its shield. Property, 


THE BLACK CKOSS. 


99 


safety, liberty, all vanished with the monarchical gov- 
ernment. He ends by exhorting the misguided ones to 
return to the holy religion which had brought France 
the benedictions of heaven, to re-establish a government, 
which, during fourteen centuries, had been the glory of 
France and the delight of Frenchmen, which had made 
our native land the most prosperous of countries, and 
themselves the happiest of nations.” 

The leaders of the Black Cross had listened standing 
to the reading of the King’s words. 

When it was completed they resumed their seats, 
and Saint-Rejant continued : 

“Gentlemen: henceforth I shall leave the work in 
Paris to any one whom you choose. I have already 
played with misfortune too long !” 

Gestures of surprise greeted the words. 

“Yes, misfortune!” resumed Saint-Rejant, whose 
face had resumed its evil expression. “You know the 
mission I received from Count d’Artois, who is now 
Monsieur? The secret with which I would have died 
has been revealed by Count d’Availlac to our King, 
then Regent ; by the Regent to his partisans, whom from 
an impulse of indignation he chose to inform ; by his 
partisans to their friends, and by their friends to the 
women whom they loved. It was also disclosed by 
Count d’Artois himself to his faithful followers, among 
whom you are numbered, and on the same day to the 
Duchess de Guiche, who, not content with her love 
secrets, is curious concerning secrets of State. It is 
probably also known by the Jew, Samuel, who, judging 
by his co-religionists, must hate our princes as much 
as he hates our King. Finally, it is in possession, you 
know how, of General Bonaparte.” 


100 


THE KOMANCE OE THE SWORD. 


Saint-Re j ant stopped an instant and drank a glass of 
water, as if the name of Bonaparte parched his lips. 

“ Oh, that Bonaparte !” he continued. “ What demon 
.watches over him ! The day after Toulon was captured 
by the Republicans I followed his trail and pursued 
him to Antibes, where his family lived. One night I 
entered the grounds surrounding his house. The trig- 
ger of my pistol caught in the ivy, and the weapon was 
discharged. I received the ball in my thigh and was 
forced to make my escape like a wounded animal, press- 
ing the wound firmly lest the blood should betray me. 
A few days after, having recovered, I waited for him 
in Toulon, determined to seize him in a dark place, 
where I knew that he was in the habit of meditating, 
and torture him till he revealed the hiding-place of the 
weapon. He appeared surrounded by his whole staff ! 
He embarked for Genoa. I watched for his return to 
Paris, and resolved to go to his house. It was the 9th 
Thermidor! He was to be arrested as a suspicious 
character and, expecting it, had moved the evening be- 
fore. He was free, and went to encamp. People do 
not take so valuable a weapon into camp. I tell you a 
demon protects him, a demon against whom neither 
plots nor prayers prevail !” 

Saint-Rejant paused to take breath. 

“ Besides, we shall 'not really possess the sword of 
Henri IV. until we are General Bonaparte’s masters, 
and we shall not be his masters until we have conquered 
the Revolution, of which he is the incarnation. And I 
shall not sharpen in Paris the knife with which I mean 
to kill him. I am not fit for these endless intrigues, 
these interminable discussions, these conspiracies which 
never accomplish anything. My field of action must no 


THE BLACK CROSS. 


101 


longer be here, but yonder in the East, where people 
breathe and fight. Charette commands at Nantes; 
Bois-Hardi is making a stand at Saint-Brieuc ; Stofflet 
is giving battle at Saint-Florent ; my place is among 
them.” 

“ Explain yourself,” said Monsieur de Chatillon. 

“ Count d’Hervilly, having found in London some 
refugees from Toulon who had formed a regiment, in- 
corporated them with his own, and thus had at his dis- 
posal a force of nearly twelve hundred men. Count 
d’ Hector has a regiment of emigrant marines number- 
ing six hundred men. Count du Dresnay has gathered 
four hundred Bretons who were enlisted against their 
will in the first conscription and made prisoners during 
the war. Lieutenant Rothalier, a deserter, after hav- 
ing organized a regiment of artillery, collected a num- 
ber of emigrants who no longer desired to serve in their 
former grades and made them officers. While thus 
creating a little army, Puisaye was endeavoring to ac- 
cumulate funds, and obtained authority from the prince 
to manufacture three thousand million counterfeit as- 
signats, employing for the purpose the idle priests who 
were not fit to wield the sword. In short, ere long, a 
descent will be made on France, supported by the Eng- 
lish fleet. I shall be there to reconnoitre, ascertain the 
movements of the enemy, in a word, accomplish all 
tasks, even the most gloomy. During this time, gentle- 
men (I am speaking in behalf of the Vendean and 
Breton chiefs), you will watch Paris more closely than 
ever and send your information to Charette, who will 
need to know what is occurring in order to direct a gen- 
eral movement. And perhaps, with God’s assistance, 
we shall succeed in our purpose ! Unless,” added Saint- 


102 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Re j ant, whose face had become frightful to behold, 
“ Heaven commands me to use means still more terrible. 
Gentlemen, I shall start to-morrow. I drink to the 
destruction of the Republic and the triumph of the royal 
cause.” 

It was ten o’clock in the evening when Saint-Rejant 
gave the signal for departure. 

Pichoux received the payment for the dinner against 
his will. 

By refusing it, he hoped to convince his guests how 
completely he shared their opinions and their hopes. 


CHAPTER III. 


A VISIT FROM PICHEGRU. 

At the time Madame Pichoux was consulting her 
looking-glass before getting into the cart, General Bona- 
parte was surveying the room he occupied, to determine 
whether it was sufficiently in order to receive his guests. 

This room, situated in the fifth story of No. 7 Rue 
du Marais, was a tolerably large apartment, lighted by 
a window looking out upon the street. It was furnished 
with an iron bed, a mahogany bureau, on whose marble 
top lay several books, a dining-table, and six chairs with 
haircloth seats. On the walls hung a portrait, that of 
his young brother Louis, who had accompanied him to 
Genoa as aide-de-camp; a calendar, and the map of 
Europe, covered with marks made by pencils of various 
colors — so many enigmas whose key he alone possessed. 

He was pacing up and down in the impossibility 
which he often experienced of remaining in the same 
place, sometimes going into the kitchen to count the 
plates, or examining his wardrobe in an alcove adjoin- 
ing the room. 

For a few minutes, with his eyes bent on the map, he 
had interrupted his whistling — which at that time was 
habitual — to become absorbed in a memory or a com- 
bination, when some one rapped at the door. 

‘‘Come in ! Pichegru! Where did you drop from?” 

“Holland.” 


103 


104 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


“How did you find my quarters?” 

“From the police.” 

“So they are watching me?” 

“ It seems so.” 

“Fools! They imagine that I bear the Republic a 
grudge because it thought proper to ask me, an artillery- 
man, to serve in the infantry? And because I preferred 
to refuse ! Well ! That’s the way with men. We must 
watch over our own glory. And you are covered with 
it, at Cassel, Courtrai, Menin ” 

“ You know me by heart !” 

“ I know everything which happens in France. Let 
me go on : you covered yourself with it again at Bois-le- 
Duc, Vanloo, Nijmeguen, Amsterdam. You boarded 
the ships with squadrons of hussars ! Zounds ! I wish 
I had been there! I was at the Chateau Salle, with 
my mother, or a prisoner at Fort-Carre. Where I 
alone am concerned, I know less. The main thing is to 
be able to shout : ‘ Hurrah for France !’ You have some- 
thing to say to me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Make haste then. There is to be a dinner here, 
thanks to the credit some worthy folk give me. Will 
you join us?” 

“ Impossible.” 

“Why? I have Lieutenant Junot, Bourrienne, and 
Patrault. You knew him at Brienne? Patrault, the 
professor of mathematics?” 

“ I leave again early to-morrow morning.” 

“Oh, Pichegru! You are fortunate. They leave me 
idle within these four walls ! I am starving and run- 
ning into debt. Sometimes I think of entering into trade. 
The book business perhaps ! I should like to go to Tur- 


A VISIT FROM PICHEGRU. 


105 


key and command the armies of the Sultan. The East 
is a problem. And yet I have served this unjust, un- 
grateful Republic. It owes me Toulon.” 

“ A king would have made you rich and great.” 

“Rich? What does that matter? My happiest 
hours, perhaps, were spent in the Military School at 
Paris, or else when I was a lieutenant at Auxonne, rue 
Vauban, in the Lombard house. With my little Louis, 
my brother and pupil! Ninety francs a month. I 
taught him to cipher, to cook, I made a man of him ! 
Or in Corsica, in ’91, when I commanded the National 
Guard ! Ah ! Corsica is a savage country ! Perhaps 
they were those spent in the rue du Mail, at the Hotel 
de Metz, kept by Maugeard, third story, room 14! 
Have you never regretted your early youth? The days 
when you were studying at Arbois with the Minims? 
Or when you were working at Brienne? Or when, poor 
as I was, as I am, you met the recruiting sergeant of 
the regiment of Auxonne artillery, who put three crowns 
into the hand which was to conquer Holland? Or when 
you gave lessons in mathematics to the subaltern offi- 
cers? Or when you wore the religious dress? Neither 
you nor I were rich. But neither you nor I were great! 
You have become so. It is something to be great!. 
Fame, glory, dominion!” 

He looked at the map of Europe. 

“You can become so.” 

“ I know it. There are destinies. At Toulon, the 
day after the great battle, I received the last charge of 
a dying man. He commended his son to my care. 
Since then, at each of my trips to Paris, I have searched 
for him, sparing neither time nor trouble, but in vain. 
So, at this moment, there is in this city a child who is 


106 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


awaiting a fortune, perhaps a name. I constantly 
compare myself to that child. He seems to me to be 
within a stone’s throw of that fortune, that noble name. 
An accidental circumstance, an unexpected meeting ” 

“ Bonaparte, Revolution does not lead to these imag- 
inary heights. Republican governments hate those 
who rise. Two years ago, they were beheaded. Now, 
you are an example of it, they are neglected.” 

“ Yet you owe your rank to them. The patronage of 
Lebas and Saint- Just has aided you. These proconsuls 
have made you.” 

“Perhaps that does not increase my pride.” 

“You would be wrong. Your glory is no more tar- 
nished from having found such patrons than that of 
the Roman generals, who owed their fortune to Sylla 
and to Marius.” 

“At any rate, I gave them my head as a pledge. 
Remember what they did with those of Custine, Beau- 
harnais, and de Broglie. And to recover it, I was forced 
to undergo the chances of war, which may make the 
bravest and most experienced general a vanquished 
man. No, Bonaparte, I insist upon it, revolutions are 
disastrous to all except those who understand how to 
profit by them.” 

“There are some to whom they bring public esteem.” 

“For how long?” 

“ The consciousness of a glory justly won.” 

“Which the next day may turn against them.” 

“And our native land?” 

“Native land! The fate of the country is in the 
hands of the generals; but are not the generals the pris- 
oners of a lot of chattering lawyers, plumed politicians 
like those who, two years ago, wanted to prevent your 


A VISIT FROM PICHEGRU. 


107 


serving in the battery which you had directed against 
the fort of I’Eguillette?” 

“ Alas !” 

“ Do not these politicians themselves become, accord- 
ing to circumstances, the servants of a people who, for 
a single day of heroism, have months of folly and years 
of cruelty? In such a case the native land is a mother 
at the mercy of disrespectful or unnatural children, and 
the duty of a son who really loves her is to snatch her 
from the tyranny of his brothers.” 

“ How would you do it?” 

“ By a vigorous military measure.” 

“ And then?” 

“ I would appoint a leader.” 

‘‘Who?” 

General Bonaparte had approached General Pichegrn, 
and his eagle eyes were trying to read his ver}" heart. 

“Answer.” 

“We could decide that later,” replied Pichegru, dis- 
concerted. 

General Bonaparte rose. 

With his right hand thrust into his vest, and his left 
arm behind his back, he paced rapidly up and down the 
room in silence. 

General Pichegru followed him with his eyes, waiting. 

At the end of five minutes. General Bonaparte stopped 
and, putting his hand on his shoulder, said : 

“It’s a good idea, Pichegru, but premature.” 

“ Why?” 

“ Because proclamations are not issued in the presence 
of the enemy. To try them, we must not have the 
country menaced ; on the east Russia and Austria, on 
the west the Vendeans and Chouans, on the north Eng- 


108 


THE EOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


land — England, that watches, threatens, hates us, and 
would not fail to profit by an internal complication, 
however brief, to begin another Toulon !” 

Then, resuming his pacing through the room with his 
hands behind his back, he added : 

“Besides, to be frank, I detest everything which re- 
sembles conspiracy. There are events that determine 
bold measures, but measures executed promptly and 
openly. Give it up, Pichegru. I prefer to see you 
gain victories. And I will wait patiently for the oppor- 
tunity to win them too.” 

“Farewell, then.” 

“Farewell. And if you meet the police, tell them 
that they are wasting time in watching me. Bonaparte 
is only a poor officer, sleeping in a tavern, whose sole 
occupation is polishing his sword while waiting until 
he obtains an opportunity to use it.” 

They were shaking hands just as Madame Pichoux 
finished her climb to the fifth story. 

“ Pichegru, I present to you the mistress of the res- 
taurant of the Three Mile-Stones, and recommend her to 
you if you should ever have reason to be dissatisfied 
with your steward.” 

General Pichegru passed on carelessly, repeating : 

“Farewell.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


A DINNER-PARTY. 

Madame Pichoux entered, set down her basket, and, 
putting her arms akimbo, asked : 

“ What is the name of that general?” 

“ Pichegru.” 

‘‘ He didn’t look very amiable. However, he didn’t 
come here to amuse me.” 

“ What have you brought, Madame Pichoux?” 

“ In this basket, the dessert. The porter is bringing 
up the substantial dishes which I left in the cart. We 
have, as Pichoux would say, a piece of roast beef, two 
roast chickens, a salad, and the sweets.” 

“ Capital . And that will make my bill ” 

“We won’t talk about your bill.” 

“Excuse me. We must. I owe you now sixty-two 
francs, seventy.” 

Madame Pichoux laughed merrily as she looked at 
him. 

“ Then you keep your accounts?” 

“See.” 

“ That is true. I thought generals wrote nothing but 
orders. It’s all there. Ah !” cried Madame Pichoux, 
who, in her curiosity to know more, had already turned 
half a score of pages, “ even the washerwoman’s bill !” 

“Well then, what will this make?” 

She reflected : 


109 


110 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


“Sixty-five francs, in round numbers.” 

“ What, sixty-five francs? You’re not counting up 
correctly ; a piece of roast beef, two chickens, salad, and 
dessert only two francs and a half.” 

“ Everything is next to nothing now.” 

“ Madame Pichoux, you are taking advantage of my 
friendship !” 

“No, I am not!” replied the worthy woman, lifting 
out of her basket a splendid cake which she had baked 
specially for the occasion. “ I am making amends for 
the injustice of the Convention, that’s all. I am a 
patriot. General. I would like to see everybody who 
wears a sword rich, and all who have gained a victory 
millionaires. When I think that a man who captured 
Toulon perhaps has not a louis in his pocket, it humili- 
ates, vexes, shocks me. There! Ah! here’s the por- 
ter luckily, or I might say too much.” 

While the porter was carrying the dishes into the 
kitchen, General Bonaparte was watching, with a smil- 
ing face, the mistress of the Three Mile-Stones, who, 
flushed with indignation, looked only the more charm- 
ing. 

He approached her, and Madame Pichoux did not 
draw back, but raised her large black eyes with their 
long curling lashes and showed her teeth, which seemed 
as if they had been made to nibble everything. Both 
glance and smile revealed some secret thought, one of 
those thoughts which we conceal in the depths of our 
hearts, without suspecting that everything on the sur- 
face reveals it. 

The general still advanced, then hesitated and went 
toward the window. 

Madame Pichoux made a little gesture of annoyance, 


A DINNER-PARTY. 


Ill 


not understanding how a man who had conquered the 
English would beat a retreat from a cook. 

“Now,” she sighed, “I am going to see if you are 
provided with everything.” 

The situation was on the verge of being ridiculous 
for the general, had not the door suddenly opened to 
admit a lieutenant just as Madame Pichoux, on the pre- 
text of counting the plates, was rummaging through all 
the ^osets. 

General Bonaparte turned, exclaiming : 

“ Junot. How are you?” 

“ Very well. I have some good news to tell you.” 

“What is it?” 

“The courier brought me a hundred francs this 
morning.” 

“ Diavolo!” 

“ That is fifty for you.” 

“ Do you mean to share them?” 

“If you refused, I would rush downstairs and go 
into the first cafe to write you a letter filled with abuse. 
Are we not comrades, and meanwhile ” 

“What?” 

“ Nothing. Have you heard from your family?” 

“Yes.” 

“ How is your mother?” 

“Very well.” 

“And your sisters? Elise?” 

“Still at Saint-Cyr.” 

“ Caroline?” 

“ Caroline is beginning to be tired of it. I suspect 
she wants to marry.” 

“ She is the age when girls do wish it.” 

“Is that all?” 


112 


THE EOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


‘^Thatisall.” 

“You don’t inquire for Pauline?” 

“Ah! That’s true. I forgot.” 

“ Hypocrite!” 

“No, no hypocrite, only stupid and awkward, like 
all lovers.” 

“So that is still in your mind?” 

“In my mind! Every night, before I fall asleep, I 
conjure up the hours spent with her at Marseilles. 
With what delight we played truant, you to embrace 
your mother, I to kiss your sister’s hand. Those de- 
lightful afternoons by the sea-shore ! And how angry 
I, who was only a sergeant, felt at the sight of Marmont 
or Suchet. Ah ! Bonaparte, if you would ” 

“If I would? Well!” 

“Mile. Pauline Bonaparte would be called Pauline 
Junot.” 

“And what then? Some fine day Lieutenant Junot 
would discover that, even with aid from the family 
coffers, a lieutenant’s pay is insufficient to satisfy the 
whims of a spoiled child; Madame Junot perhaps would 
not forgive her husband for the economy in dress he 
would be compelled to require, and the whole trouble- 
would recoil upon me. My sister would upbraid me for 
being an imprudent brother, my brother-in-law would 
call me a reckless friend.” 

“Can you think that?” 

“ You shall marry Pauline, when one or the other of 
us has made a fortune. Until that time put her out of 
your head.” 

“ Do you suppose ” 

“Pshaw! Passions are like storms: the most violent 
are the most quickly calmed,” * 


A DINNER-PARTY. 


113 


The noise of breaking china emphasized the metaphor. 

Madame Pichoiix, who had not lost a single word of 
the conversation, vexed by hearing General Bonaparte 
express such opinions, had so far forgotten what she 
was doing as to open her hands while holding a plate. 

"One less,” she murmured. “Now there are only 
eleven of them.” 

Then as Junot laughed at her angry face, she ex- 
claimed : 

“ I advise you not to joke about such things. Lieuten- 
ant ! Some passions kill us !” she added, turning to Gen- 
eral Bonaparte. 

“ I suppose, Madame Pichoux, you are alluding to the 
one you have inspired in your husband.” 

“ I am alluding to whatever I choose !” she returned, 
picking up the pieces of the plate as much to conceal the 
proofs of her awkwardness as to hide her blushes. “ It 
concerns nobody but myself.” 

Junot studied Madame Pichoux’s face, tried to read 
General Bonaparte’s, and hummed : 

“ Ran tan plan, 

Tire, lire.” 

The sound of voices on the staircase relieved Madame 
Pichoux’s embarrassment. The new arrivals were 
Bourrienne and Monsieur Patrault. 

After the gentlemen had shaken hands with each 
other, Madame Pichoux made two courtesies, one to 
Monsieur Patrault, who sometimes came to the Three 
Mile-Stones, the other to Bourrienne, whom she had met 
before in the General’s room. 

A moment after, bringing in the tureen, she cried in 
her clear voice : 

8 


114 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“ The soup is served.” 

If Monsieur Patrault ate like a man who was not al- 
ways satisfactorily nourished by mathematics, Bour- 
rienne and Junot fairly devoured the viands. General 
Bonaparte did honor to the dishes more to gratify Ma- 
dame Pichoux than to satisfy a tolerable appetite, but 
nevertheless he did them full justice, and the mistress 
of the Three Mile-Stones had the pleasure of seeing her 
dinner disappear. 

At dessert, some light wine still further loosed the 
tongues of the party, and they began to discuss various 
subjects. First the past was recalled. 

General Bonaparte, at Junot’s request, described his 
struggle with Paoli : his ravaged patrimony, his house 
in flames. Junot related the story of his college life at 
Chatillon. Bourrienne spoke of the years spent at Bri- 
enne. Monsieur Patrault was less prolix. The wine 
was beginning to make his tongue heavy. 

Madame Pichoux, standing behind General Bona- 
parte, listened with dilating eyes like a child who hears 
a fairy-tale or a young girl the recital of a love affair. 

She listened eagerly, absorbed by her admiration for 
these three young men, two of whom had already ac- 
complished great achievements. But the general’s 
stories, especially, made her heart beat faster, the poor 
general whose rise and fall had been so sudden, and 
who looked so pale and thin. She compared him to an 
eaglet which she had seen a few days before at a menag- 
erie, a sort of plucked skeleton, in which the imagina- 
tion of the woman of the people beheld the image of 
decline. In her feminine instinct, which always con- 
tains a touch of maternity, she would fain have been 
wise enough to support him with hope, as she had some- 


A DINNEK-PAKTY. 


115 


times nourished him with bread; to serve, if not to 
advise him — she would never have dared do that — at 
least as consoler and friend; if necessary, as house- 
keeper. 

“Pshaw!” cried Junot, “the past is dead! Whether 
good or evil, Satan has buried it. General, tell us about 
your love affair.” 

Madame Pichoux was serving the cake and nearly let 
it fall, as she had dropped the plate. 

The guests looked at one another. 

“Madame Pichoux,” said Bourrienne, “are you 
jealous?” 

“ Not even of Monsieur Pichoux,” she answered, crim- 
soning ; then in great confusion added ; 

“You must be a good-for-nothing fellow. Monsieur 
Bourrienne, to ask me such questions.” 

“ Caught !” cried the general. “ Madame Pichoux is 
jealous only of her reputation as a respectable woman 
and a first-class cook. Isn’t that so?” 

The mistress of the Three Mile-Stones again sighed, 
this time from vexation at being unable to explain her- 
self. 

“She hasn’t denied it!” exclaimed Junot. 

“ I assert it !” added Bourrienne. 

Quod erat demonstrandum T said Monsieur Pa- 
trault. 

“Let them talk, Madame Pichoux,” the general re- 
marked. “ If anybody here had a right to be jealous, it 
would be I of you, who are as good as you are pretty. 
But, you know, my friends, that there is no room in my 
heart for love, or even a love affair.” 

“Ha! ha!” cried Junot. “You didn’t always say 
so.” 


116 


THE ROMANCE OE THE SWORD. 


“Give me an instance!” 

“ I have heard of a certain Desiree ” 

“ My brother Joseph’s sister-in-law? A child’s dream, 
which vanished at the first breath. Love is not made 
for poor men. The utmost they can do is to dream of 
it. Besides, I have so much to love: my mother, my 
sisters, my brothers, my soldiers — when I had them — 
and fame, when I can win it. Fame ! she is the real 
mistress of the heart, if she does not betray us like the 
rest. A girl with golden hair, fiery eyes, and superb 
bosom. Fame! — Fame, which leads us by the hand 
amid the roll of drums beating the summons to battle, 
the salute of cannon, and the waving of caps. Fame, 
of which we caught a glimpse at Toulon, Junot.” 

His eyes again turned toward the map of Europe; 
eyes like those of the eaglet that had roused the com- 
passion of the mistress of the Three Mile-Stones when, 
at liberty, it soars above its prey. 

General Bonaparte, with his elbow resting on the 
table and his hand thrust through his long, smooth hair, 
sat absorbed in some deep thought. 

No one was surprised. 

Monsieur Patrault had found him in this attitude 
more than once when he was a professor at Brienne; 
Bourrienne had been accustomed to it from the same 
period ; Junot from the siege of Toulon. 

Madame Pichoux, full of admiration, stood motion- 
less, waiting for some gesture from him. 

The clock struck ten, and General Bonaparte started, 
exclaiming, with his facility for changing his mood as 
quickly as his conversation : 

“ My friends, I must take leave of you. I am about 
to make my debut in Parisian drawing-rooms. Pre- 


117 


A DIJ^^NER-PARTY. 

pare for the greatest of surprises : I am going to Madame 
Tallien’s.” 

Junot was amazed, Bourrienne fairly stupefied, Mon- 
sieur Patrault no longer had an opinion, and Madame 
Pichoux, this time, was really jealous. 

“Yes, Madame Tallien’s. Something tells me that 
these dandies mean either to humiliate me or to win me, 
how do I know? I shall not be sorry to go with my 
spurs on into the midst of all these fine folks and fray 
their satins by the contact of my epaulettes. Ah ! they 
compel me to fight in boudoirs. Forward, march! 
Sound the charge, my fair ones ! Madame Pichoux, do 
you know how to make love-locks? You are pulling my 
hair! That’s right! Powder? Never. My uniform. 
Thanks. Junot, give me my sword, the one I wore at 
the capture of Little Gibraltar ! Bourrienne, my hat. 
Patrault, there ought to be a pair of gloves in the upper 
drawer of the bureau. There they are! Do you ap- 
prove of me, my fair one? By the way, here are fifty 
francs on account. Don’t refuse! Junot is paying. 
Now I think of it— you must leave the key with the 
porter. Now, my friends, present arms! General Bo- 
naparte is rushing on to victory !” 

He was already outside, leaving his guests bewil- 
dered, and Madame Pichoux uncertain whether he was 
crazy or in love. 


CHAPTER V. 


OUR LADY OF THERMIDOR. 

In 1795 receptions were rare. Private persons were 
afraid of displaying a luxury for which the Republic 
might make them pay dearly. 

Therefore they restricted themselves to attending 
what were then called subscription assemblies. 

The most fashionable women danced at the Bal de 
Thelasson, situated at the end of the rue Cerutti, oppo- 
site to the boulevard, or at the Bal Richelieu. 

Consequently the opening of Madame Tallien’s draw- 
ing-rooms seemed a very audacious act and instantly 
became the universal topic of conversation. 

She had already given occasion for a great deal of 
gossip. In 1791, wl^en she was Madame de Fontenay, 
she adorned the society of the Marais and secured admir- 
ers in General Lafayette and the brothers Lamotte. 
The newspapers had been supplied with entertaining 
material by her divorce, the* love with which she sud- 
denly inspired Tallien, her marriage, and the influence 
she exerted over his political career. 

But her receptions awakened still greater curiosity. 
What was her object? Conjectures of all sorts were 
rife, and people were eager to verify or to combat them. 

The “place of conspiracy,” to borrow an expression 
used in a paper of that period, was a little house situ- 
ated at the end of the Allee des Veuves near the Cour 
118 


OUR LADY OF THERMIDOR. 


119 


la Reine, concealed by a clump of poplar trees and lilac 
bushes, which went by the name of “ The Cottage.” 

It was really thatched, but painted, ornamented with 
unplaned wood, and surrounded with flowers like a cot- 
tage at the comic opera. 

This evening it was thronged with the celebrities of 
the day: Hoche, on the eve of taking command of the 
coasts of Cherbourg ; La Harpe, who, after a detention 
of some months at the Luxembourg, had just been ap- 
pointed professor of literature in the Normal Schools; 
Siej^es, Chenier, Freron, Garat, Cherubini; Mehul, the 
violin of Rhodes, who was to All up the intervals with a 
cavatina by Cimarosa or a scene from Gluck; Carl Ver- 
net, Duplessis-Boilly and Duplessis-Bertaux, etc., etc. 

The women were chosen from among the fairest and 
the most agreeable in Paris. An invitation from Ma- 
dame Tallien was a patent of attractiveness and wit. 
They went from one to another, distributing palms, or 
sat carelessly waiting for the homage to which they 
were justly entitled to be laid at their feet. 

Three among the number shone with special brilliancy, 
and were called the Three Graces : 

Madamo Chateau-Regnault, lovely in her lawn dress 
whose long sleeves were trimmed with a purple Greek 
border. On her arm she held a work-bag, ornamented 
with gold fringes and Roman painting. Her limbs and 
feet were bare, and she wore purple sandals. Rings en- 
circled her toes. Around her neck was a cameo neck- 
lace, and her hair was short, a la Caracalla. 

Madame Cambys, bewitchingly dressed in an Indian 
muslin robe, with very long gloves tied above the elbows 
by a ribbon. She was playing with a fragrant cedar 
fan, and had introduced the new style of arranging the 


120 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


hair, a sort of Grecian coiffure, with the difference that 
the locks, falling to the shoulder, were allowed to hang 
at one side. 

Viscountess de Beauharnais, whose Creole charm 
maintained its attraction even by the side of her for- 
midable rivals, floated with graceful lissomeness in a 
pink and white dress. A waist six inches long, with- 
out a kerchief ; short black gauze sleeves ; long gloves 
reaching above the elbow, white stockings with green 
clocks, and yellow morocco shoes. Her hair was ar- 
ranged a Vetrangere, and ornamented with pink fillets. 

Beneath the radiance of the lustres and sconces there 
was a bewildering confusion of ribbons, floating tresses, 
lorgnons, trinkets, cravats a la guillotine, gnarled and 
gilded canes, striped stockings, fancy boots, Roman 
sandals, wigs, caps au repentir, shawls a la victime, 
capes, box-coats, hats a lucarne, coats invraisemhla- 
hles, breeches color of the weather, or color of the thigh 
of an agitated nymph, draperies of gauze beneath which 
one imagined the nudity which could not be seen, cir- 
cles, cameos, and gold rings. 

While the orchestra filled the great white drawing- 
room, adorned with pale-hued tapestries, conversations 
between individuals became animated. 

Garat was discoursing in a niche near the door. 

“ It’s useless for you to talk, Sieyes, there is a distinc- 
tion between eloquence and the art of oratory: elo- 
quence, considered in itself, is a natural facult}^ ; the art 
of oratory is the result of what study and experience add 
to this faculty ” 

Madame Visconti was recommending to Mme. de 
Valence her coquet du matin: an invention which she 
claimed. 


OUE LADY OF THERMIDOR. 


121 


“ Imagine a hood turned up on one side more than the 
one called the coquette. It is made of Savoyard taf- 
feta, slightly folded. The top is finished by a rosette of 
apricot-colored ribbon. It is worn slightly slanted over 
the left ear.” 

“ How does it fasten?” 

‘‘ Under the chin, with a ribbon made into a rosette 
with two long ends falling to the waist. A single lock 
of half -curled hair goes with it and hangs on the shoul- 
der. For my part, I shall give up the wave.” 

Chenier was talking with Freron. 

Freron has a presentiment that the Convention is 
about to end. 

“And with the Convention, the Republic will be 
over.” 

“ Don’t fear that. The Convention is not the Holy 
Ark. We are now on the shore. The marplots will 
vainly cause a tempest; it will not reach us.” 

“ You speak in the character of a poet. If we had the 
republic of Corneille ” 

Freron stopped. Carl Vernet, standing near the 
journalist and the poet, had begun to relate the latest 
anecdote about La Harpe. 

“Just think, the other day. Monsieur de La Harpe 
went to dine with a rich banker. Every attention was 
lavished upon him; his tastes were studied, he was 
served perfectly; nothing that he liked was omitted. 
He became reconciled to mankind ; he would have dis- 
covered intellect in Saint- Ange, gentleness in Blin de 
Sainmore.” 

“ And gayety in Palissot !” added a listener. 

“Probably. Suddenly he rose from the table and 
vanished. After a tolerably long absence the mistress 


122 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


of the house sent in search of him, but he was nowhere 
to be found. Surprised and uneasy, she rose and went 
through the house, fearing that some accident might 
have happened to him. At last she discovered La Harpe 
in a little out-of-the-way room, kneeling before a pier- 
table, on which two candles were burning. Amazed at 
his attitude and his profound grief, she asked its cause, 
and, amid violent sobs, he answered: ‘Madame, how 
could I help lamenting when I think of the excellent din- 
ner I have had the misfortune to eat? I have devoured a 
nourishing soup, two breaded cutlets, and the jowl of 
a calf’s head, a bit of pike cut from near the gills, to 
which you helped me yourself ; I refused nothing because 
the will of God and of pretty women must be obeyed. I 
did justice to the three courses; in a word, I have dined, 
unworthy mortal that I am, like a prelate of the olden 
times — and yet (here his tears redoubled) when I think 
of the cruel privations to which so many poor priests 
without tithes, and canons without benefices, are ex- 
posed, who perhaps have not so much as an omelette 
and bacon, and must endure poor dinners from now 
until eternity unless Providence comes to their aid! 
But undoubtedly, Madame,’ he added, ‘I am expected 
at dessert. I’ll wager that it will be delicious. I must 
eat some conserves, marchpane, cake, and drink coffee. 
At least let it be very hot! Just a dash of liquor, I en- 
treat you. You have it from the Isles? The cream of 
Barbadoes, if possible. Alas! The Christian’s life is 
full of tribulations, and as we must not murmur against 
the will of Heaven, I will follow you.’ ” 

Peals of laughter from the listeners drowned the com- 
ments of another group upon Madame Recamier’s inten- 
tion of giving entertainments of which Madame de Stael 


OUR LADY OF THERMIDOR. 


123 


was to be the intellectual queen. They would avail 
themselves of them to seek in vain for a lover. 

“Yet,” insinuated Mme. de Vieusan, lowering her 
voice (for now that Carl Yernet had finished his anec- 
dote a singer began the Hymn to Humanity by Baour- 
Lormian, music by Gossec), “she appeared at Long- 
champs, dressed a la Aspasia, almost in a peplum, 
with her sandalled feet resting on a tiger-skin.” 

A movement expressive of curiosity ran through the 
crowd. 

The Hymn to Humanity being ended, Madame Tal- 
lien came forward. 

She has been painted by Madame Le Brun when she 
was Madame de Fontenay; by Duplessis-Bertaut in the 
dance of the chlamys, clad, as it was termed, for the 
love of God, so light was the tissue that covered her; 
by Carl Yernet as an Athenian woman; by Debucourt, 
in the time when she was playing the Amazon and the 
patriot. 

Neither Madame Le Brun, Duplessis-Bertaut, Carl 
Yernet, nor Debucourt have represented her so beautiful 
as she was that evening. 

It was the Yeniis of the Capitol, for she possessed the 
same purity of feature, the same perfect modelling of the 
arms, the hands, the feet. 

Her face, animated by its Spanish eyes, dark and 
brilliant, and the full lips in which lurks the irre- 
sistible power of smiles, revealed both her soul and 
her mind. 

Her dress was simple : a muslin robe draped in the 
antique fashion and fastened by two cameos. A gold 
belt clasped her waist. A broad gold bracelet fastened 
the sleeve above the elbow. Her velvety black tresses 


124 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


were arranged a la Titus. Over her graceful shoulders 
was a red cashmere shawl. 

She came forward with her right hand resting on the 
left palm of Barras, who ambled along in his light-blue 
coat with octagonal buttons, his white vest lined with 
pink, his nankin breeches trimmed with ribbons, his 
colored hose, and his top-boots. A huge white cravat 
framed his face; a gilded sword hung at his side, and 
he was fanning himself with his plumed hat. 

Madame Tallien had a word for eveiy one, especially 
Hoche. Barras would perhaps make him the military 
chief of some important measure. Unless — time would 
show. She slipped her arm through Hoche’s and leaned 
on it, an irresistible siren, while Barras went in search 
of Sieyes. But Hoche was embarrassed. He had not 
acquired elegant manners, even in the Conciergerie, 
where he associated with the world of society. He 
seemed, moreover, to be suffering from some illness — 
perhaps the disease that ended his life. Madame Tal- 
lien was conducted to the place she usually occupied, at 
the foot of a statue, that of Terpsichore, where her 
throne was erected. Her admirers instantly pressed 
around her, but at the very moment that their flattery 
was most eager, she rose to meet a new arrival. 

Every eye was turned upon the guest who was so for- 
tunate as to receive the homage of this queen before he 
offered his own. 

He was a young man with carelessly arranged hair, 
dressed in a shabby cloth coat which displayed his rank 
of general only by a narrow strip of gold lace on which 
was embroidered an oak-leaf, a decoration repeated on 
the high turned-down collar. The guests wondered at 
his shabby epaulettes and defaced hat — which, how- 


OUR LADY OF THERMIDOR. 


125 


ever, had more gold lace than the whole coat — adorned 
with a huge tricolored plume. 

He bowed to Madame Tallien, who took his arm as 
she had just leaned on Hoche’s, and made the round of 
the drawing-room with him, pausing at each group and 
presenting : 

“ General Bonaparte. ” 

In passing before Hoche, the general held out his 
hand. Hoche took it, and the two soldiers measured 
each other from head to foot. 

Madame Tallien continued the introductions. 

The name of General Bonaparte ran from lip to lip. 
It was known that he had captured Toulon, it was also 
known that he was in disgrace. Those were not suffi- 
cient titles to so much attention from her who was not 
deemed lavish in paying it. Slander could not accuse 
Madame Tallien of being in love with him. He was 
too thin, too poor, too far from brilliant. 

Yet the young general bore the glances fixed upon him 
steadily, so steadily that sometimes, when they became 
too persistent, he compelled the gazers to lower their 
eyes. He was not unaware that his shabby attire 
awakened smiles, at least concealed ones, from these 
men clad in satin and bedizened with ribbons, like Ital- 
ian puppets ; but he only held himself the more erect in 
his uniform, only leaned the more proudly on his sword. 
He knew also that these ladies; like the larks snared by 
a mirror, admired nothing save things which charmed, 
glittered, sparkled; he must awe them by his sombre 
simplicity. And as he had already formed the habit of 
attacking the enemy in front, surprising him by the un- 
expectedness, the suddenness of his assaults, he now ad- 
vanced directly to the group where Garat was harang- 


126 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


uing, and instead of following the conversation led it. 
He accused La Harpe of over-praising the art of oratory 
at a period when it had done so much evil and bayonets 
needed to be sharper than tongues. He reproached 
Sieyes for proposing Athenian constitutions where 
Roman ones were needed. He unfolded a theory con- 
cerning the method of government. He predicted 
to Freron a day when the muzzled press could no 
longer exert the malign influence which he attributed 
to it. He congratulated Cherubini, to whom, how- 
ever, he admitted that he preferred Mehul, first, because 
he was a Frenchman, and secondl}^, because his style 
was better suited to warlike compositions. “We no 
longer need guitars, but clarions,” he added. He 
reproached Duplessis-Boilly for dwelling upon scenes 
of civil life when he ought to paint soldiers and depict 
victories. 

Then, while all were bewildered by the variety of his 
knowledge, the manner in which his sharp, abrupt tones 
uttered his convictions, he turned his back upon them 
and walked directly toward the ladies. 

This time his heart beat violently ; he felt that he was 
afraid. But it was the fear of the conscript who, at the 
second fire, becomes a brave soldier. 

He approached a group of pretty women who had 
gathered around Hoche and were making him describe 
his victories. One of them, Madame Visconti, was pre- 
dicting fresh conquests. She read it on his brow, after 
the new method of the German Gassner. Madame 
Cambys did not believe in Gassner, but in palmistry, 
and, through politeness, almost through compassion, she 
asked General Bonaparte if he had any opinion on the 
subject. 


OUR LADY OF TIIERMIDOR. 127 

‘^The more so, as I can read the hand, Madame, as 
if it were an open book.” 

“ Impossible ! Where did you learn?” 

“ In Corsica.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed all the women, holding out their 
little ungloved hands, “tell me my fortune. General.” 

He had taken Hoche’s place, and, kneeling, began to 
read the future ; 

“ Madame de Bremont, you will be loved by an officer 
who will be killed in the war. Madame d ’Oliva, your 
husband is in Spain, where he pays court to another 
woman. Madame Cambys, beware of an emigrant who 
arrived from London six months ago.” 

“ And I?” asked Hoche. 

“What do you wish to know?” 

“ How I shall die.” 

General Bonaparte took his hand, followed its lines 
with the tip of his finger, and answered smiling : 

“In your bed.” 

Hoche protested angrily, amusing the listeners by his 
indignation. General Bonaparte was just on the eve of 
answering a question of Madame de Vieusan, when 
Madame Tallien drew him away, led him to Barras, 
and left them together. 

Barras went with General Bonaparte to a door open- 
ing into the garden. 

“ I have long desired an opportunity to express my re- 
gret for the way in which you have been treated since 
the capture of Toulon,” he began. “The Convention 
has proved itself both ungrateful and blundering. That 
is the way with popular assemblies when there is no one 
to direct them. Your case and many others have at- 
tracted attention, and a constitution is being discussed.” 


128 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“Republican?” 

“Evidently. Directorial.” 

“ And how do you think the country will take it?” 

“ The Republicans feel the necessity for a stable gov- 
ernment too deeply to oppose anything that resembles 
an improvement.” 

“And the Royalists? They are stirring.” 

“ Did you know that too?” 

“ No one is ignorant of it except the police.” 

“ Do you think that the Royalists will oppose it?” 

“ On the contrary. Any constitution will suit them 
provided that it affords the opportunity for a general 
change in the members of the government. They wiU 
profit by it to create disturbances, unite the largest pos- 
sible number of men of their own belief, and use the Re- 
public itself for the benefit of royalty.” 

“ To remove the supporters of the Convention?” 

“ And call in new men whom it will be easier to lead 
astray. You will see the whole pack of literary men 
and writers rush into the political turmoil through the 
spirit of reaction or from personal ambition. If the Re- 
action triumphs, it is all over with us. If it succumbs, 
it will avenge itself by a sudden blow. Then the Re- 
public will be forced to appeal to a victorious general. 
To Hoche ” 

“ Or to you?” 

“ Oh ! to me !” 

“You have just predicted everything that I intended 
to tell you, even to the end. You are an extraordinary 
man ” 

“No. I am a man who reflects while others are danc- 
ing. And then, I have the clear vision of a lover who 
is jealous of his lady. I love France.” 


OUR LADY OF THER>IIDOR. 


129 


“ And you hate the Bourbons?” 

“For two reasons: because they are traitors and be- 
cause they are cowards !” 

“Calm yourself, general,” replied Barras, laughing. 
“ Here comes Sieyes. If he knew that we were speaking 
of a constitution, he would repeat his, which I like well 
enough, only it is interminable.” 

General Bonaparte left Sieyes and Barras together. 

Noticing a sort of little conservatory, now empty, he 
entered it a moment to reflect, and passing this circle 
in review before him, perceived how easily a resolute 
nature might become its master. 

A few minutes had been sufficient for him to impress 
these men, the majority of whom had reached the height 
of their career, and these spoiled, frivolous women, who 
were more inclined to mockery than to consideration. 
And Barras, Viscount Paul de Barras, a member of one 
of the oldest noble families in Provence — Barras, an 
ex-officer of the regiment of the Isle of France, a briga- 
dier-general, already preferred him to Hoche for the de- 
fence of the Republic. 

Passing from thought to thought, he was lost in one 
of those problems whose statement he guarded in the in- 
most depths of his being, lest their solution might be 
guessed, when the rustling of a dress attracted his at- 
tention and he raised his eyes. 

A woman had just entered. 

Perceiving him, she blushed and drew back as if in- 
tending to retire. 

“I entreat you not to judge me by my appear- 
ance, Madame. I am not so gloomy as I look, and 
if I am more accustomed to the society of corporals 
than of pretty women, I am ready to receive frorn 
9 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


lao 

the latter all the lessons in courtesy they are willing 
to bestow.” 

“I don’t think you need them. A few minutes ago, 
you were telling Madame Cambys’ fortune and behav- 
ing, certainly, with the utmost gallantry.” 

“ Perhaps my assurance concealed a great deal of tim- 
idity. I have seen fright transform conscripts into 
heroes.” 

•“ That was undoubtedly due to your way of command- 
ing them. At Toulon ” 

“ Ah ! you know that?” 

“ Yes, I know it. And I remember when others have 
forgotten ” 

“ Why, madame, that is the Capitol !” 

“ And the Tarpeian Rock. They say you are a Jaco- 
bin?” 

“ Who makes that assertion?” 

“ Your friends.” 

“ Or my enemies. It is difficult to make the distinc- 
tion, when every moment establishes a new current. If 
you wish to obtain a political confession of faith from 
me ” 

“ Let me have it.” 

“Well, Madame, I am a Jacobin without being 
one.” 

“ That’s a true Corsican answer. Isn’t there a prov- 
erb in your country ” 

“ But, Madame, my country is France !” 

“ Pardon me. Is there not a proverb in your depart- 
ment which runs — how was it? — I knew it in that 
language ” 

‘Don’t try to recall the dialect.” 

“Why?” 


OUR LADY OF THEKMIDOR. 


131 


“ I have forgotten it.” 

“Entirely?” 

“ Entirely.” 

“ Then I’ll try to remember it in French : ‘ Say neither 
yes nor no, if you want to have an opinion the next 
day.’” 

“ I will prove it false by saying yes and no. Yes, I 
am a Jacobin, when the point in question is to defend 
my native land against foreign foes and selfish preten- 
ders. No, I am not a Jacobin, if it is necessary con- 
stantly to see rioting in the streets and maintain an 
anarchy which has already shed so much blood and 
made so many tears flow ” 

“ At the present time ” 

“ At the present time, Madame, if I were not afraid 
of being deceived by my inexperience, I should believe 
that I was in love.” 

“ That is a very gallant beginning for a man so untu- 
tored, and induces me to sit down.” 

The general bit his lips, perceiving only that he had 
failed to offer the lady a chair. 

“You see that I still need lessons?” 

“For Heaven’s sake, don’t interpret my remark in 
that way. I did not intend, when I made up my mind 
to pass through here, to remain. I was looking for 
Monsieur de Gorbieres, who, apparently, has not come.” 

“And now?” 

“ Oh ! now I will stay. You interest me deeply. There 
are already legends of your youth. It is said that when 
you were in garrison at Auxonne you managed, on 
your lieutenant’s pay, to support yourself and educate a 
brother. That speaks well for your heart.- It is ru- 
mored that at Toulon you gave lessons in strategy to the 


132 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Convention. So much for your intelligence. Officers 
say that under fire you are always foremost, and thus 
win the admiration of your soldiers. A proof of your 
courage. Here is enough, I think, to attract any woman, 
even were she, like myself, the most frivolous and 
feather-brained. And then, something tells me that 
when politics has ceased to command swords ” 

“ Aha! — are you taking your turn to tell fortunes?” 

“They terrify me!” 

“ And I was just going to ask your permission to read 
the lines in your hand?” 

“ I should have refused. I know my fate already.” 

“ May I, without indiscretion, ask the wizard’s name?” 

“The wizard was a witch, a black witch.” 

“That is singularly like a fairy-tale.” ’ 

“It happened long ago, and occurred — on leaving 
Fort-de-France, one doubles the extreme end of Morin 
Bay and perceives the Three Isles — it occurred there. 
One morning — I was then a young girl — while watch- 
ing the sea-gulls dipping their wings in the blue waves, 
an old negress who had nursed me took my hand and 
examined it. I asked her if she saw anything extra- 
ordinary. ‘ Yes,’ she replied. ‘ Is it good or evil for- 
tune that is to befall me?’ ‘ Both good and evil. ’ ‘What 
do you read in the future?’ ‘ You will soon marr3\ You 
will become a widow. And then you will be Queen of 
France.’” 

“Like Marie Antoinette.” 

“ She was living at that time. The first part of the 
prediction is fulfilled. I left Fort-de-France, reached 
Paris, and married Viscount de Beauharnais.” 

“ What, Madame, you are ” 

“ The Viscountess de Beauharnais,” 


OUR LADY OF THERMIDOR. 


133 


“ I knew your husband. He was one of the members 
of the nobility, who after the oath at the tennis-court 
joined the Third Estate. He was president of the Con- 
stituent Assembly, general-in-chief. And he died ” 

“By the guillotine.” 

“ Pardon me for having recalled a memory so painful.” 

“We are living in times when every one has a blood- 
stain, and death has become so familiar that it no longer 
terrifies us. We greet and laugh at it. I cite as proof 
of this that we put on ball-dresses to relate its deeds. 
After my husband’s death, I was thrown into the Car- 
melite prison, separated from my children — I have two. 
My husband’s estates were confiscated, the Beauharnais 
family was ruined, Martinique was in the power of the 
English. When Madame Tallien, Our Lady of Ther- 
midor, as she is called — But, General, I really do 
not know why I am telling you all this.” 

General Bonaparte looked at her. 

The charm of her face, softened by the expression of 
her large deep-blue eyes, half concealed by their long 
lashes, and the glory of her fair tresses inspired him 
with an emotion never experienced before, and this was 
aided by the witchery of her voice, her whole person, 
which possessed both aerial lightness and majesty. Gen- 
eral Bonaparte had no knowledge of love. A few gar- 
rison flirtations had not made him familiar with its 
power, nor had the fleeting influence of Mademoiselle 
Desiree Clary, an influence purely Platonic, a dream of 
youth dispelled by the first breeze. The very contrast 
between their natures : the woman all feeling and poesy ; 
the soldier, all rationality, inured to the sternness of 
facts, aided the crystallization which Stendhal was to 
discover later. 


134 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Viscountess de Beauharnais, on her part, gradually 
felt captivated by the eagle glance of this virgin hero. 
While yielding to the influence of this very contrast, her 
Creole temperament, careless and frivolous, found pleas- 
ure in the subjection endured without being able to un- 
derstand it. 

Just at that moment the musicians were playing Mel- 
ancholy by Mehul, one of his masterpieces, which was 
afterwards destroyed in a Are. The melody reached 
them both, seeming to the viscountess like a distant echo 
from her far-off island ; to the general, like one from his. 

“You have told me all this,” replied General Bona- 
parte, “ because invisible- bonds unite those who have 
suffered. Misfortune creates immediate sympathy. I 
have only to wish, Madame, that the second part of the 
prophecy may be fulfilled.” 

“You, a Republican !” 

“ Your royalty would be so gentle !” he added, hold- 
ing out his hand. 

“ Those words might render you a suspicious charac- 
ter,” replied the viscountess, placing her own within it. 
“ It needed courage to utter them, but from you they 
cause me no surprise.” 

The music had just stopped. 

The viscountess took leave of the general and returned 
to the drawing-rooms, already fearing that the cause of 
her absence might have been guessed. 

General Bonaparte soon followed, but henceforth was 
oblivious to everything around him. 

Y et the scene was an attractive one. Madame Tallien , 
Madame Chateau-Regnault, and Madame Visconti were 
executing a Greek movement to an improvisation by 
Gossec. 


CHAPTER VI. 


CHARLOTTE AND ROBERT. 

The day had been threatening. From early morning 
disturbances had occurred in the Faubourgs of Saint- 
Antoine and Saint Marceau, in the quarter of the Tem- 
ple, in the streets of Saint-Denis, Saint-Martin, and es- 
pecially in the city. 

Warned by the beating of the drums, the roar of the 
cannon, and the alarm-bell rung by the order of the 
Committee of the Safety in the Pavilion de T Unite, the 
sections had gathered, grouping around them a drunken 
mob, which was about to march upon the Convention, 
yelling : 

“Bread and the Constitution of ’93 !” 

The Convention Avas obliged to offer a sharp resistance 
to the inA^asion. 

Nevertheless the struggle had been severe, — so severe 
that the frightened shopkeepers gave orders to close at 
five o’clock in the evening, and Paris presented the 
aspect of a city in a state of siege. 

Among those whose shutters had been put up Avas 
the Tri colored Ribbon, famous for its bonnets. The 
owner, who belonged to a section, had had two motives 
for closing: the impossibility of attending to busi- 
ness, and the necessity of fulfilling what he regarded 
as a duty. 

The decision had been receiA^ed Avith great joy by all 
135 


136 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


the workwomen except one: Charlotte Kerouan, — and 
for the following reason. 

To the others liberty afforded the power of meeting a 
lover and going for refreshments to some establishment 
like Madame Pichoux’s. 

To Charlotte Kerouan, it meant the necessity of re- 
turning home earlier than usual, and to her this home 
was a hell. 

Charlotte had lost her mother very early in life, and 
remained alone with her father, the Kerouan who was 
drinking at the Three Mile-Stones. 

At that time Kerouan had just resigned his position 
in the fleet where he was acting as quartermaster. 
Young as she was, she had witnessed the change which 
had taken place in her father. Kerouan was sober, pa- 
tient, kind; he had become a drunkard, irritable, and 
wicked. Before his wife’s death, when Kerouan came 
on shore, he raised his daughter in his arms, pressed her 
to his heart, and tenderly embraced her. After her 
mother’s departure, Kerouan not only no longer em- 
braced his daughter, but he abused and beat her. Char- 
lotte, experienced in sorrow, at first attributed this 
transformation to grief. He was obliged to struggle 
against it. Kerouan told all who cared to listen his re- 
gret that his wife had not died sooner. 

Charlotte ceased to understand, and bowed her head 
to misfortune. 

Kerouan suddenly left Brest, the place of his birth, 
his marriage, and his paternity. People asked the 
cause of so unexpected and abrupt a decision. He re- 
plied that he had a horror of the sea, and of Bluest and 
its inhabitants too. On reaching Paris, he settled in the 
Rue de Valois, a few paces from the Three Mile-Stones, 


CHARLOTTE AND ROBERT. 


137 


apprenticed Charlotte, and worked in the little ports 
in the neighborhood, utilizing the knowledge gained 
during nearly twenty years of seafaring life. Soon he 
wearied of labor, and would do nothing unless compelled 
by hunger. He drank every day until he was intoxi- 
cated, and whenever he went home he vented his ill- 
temper upon his daughter, beating her brutally for 
everything or rather for nothing. If the neighbors 
came to the little girl’s assistance, he threatened them; 
if they left him to his brutality, he did not stop until 
the child, utterly exhausted, had no longer strength to 
scream. 

Yet Charlotte managed, in spite of this daily calamity, 
to grow to womanhood, but like a plant within prison 
walls : pale, puny, emaciated. Then the time came for 
her to choose a trade, and with a recommendation from 
Madame Pichoux, who saw her pass every day, she 
presented herself at the Tri colored Ribbon. The head 
of the establishment asked sarcastically if she really 
thought she had strength to carry a bonnet. She an- 
swered yes, though without feeling absolutely certain, 
and he hired her as errand-girl to beat the streets of 
Paris all day long whatever the weather might be. 
The next year he engaged her at a salary of about half 
the amount then paid to a domestic servant. At the 
time of this story, she was earning just enough to pur- 
chase a little bread and pork for breakfast, and buy the 
shoes she wore out very quickly in her errands. 

The sight of her on her way home was a convincing 
proof of the cowardice of Fate, which seems to choose 
the frailest shoulders for the heaviest burdens. The 
poor little face of this child of sixteen was really pitiful. 
Her forehead, on which rested locks of hair rolled on 


138 


THE ROMANCE OP THE SWORD. 


black curl-papers, already had the lines of premature 
suffering, such as are found on the petals of flowers 
which, with dangerous precocity, have opened in Febru- 
ary. Her sea-green eyes, wearied by watching and 
tears, expressed secret dread, the fear of impending 
punishment, and her smile, heartrending in its melan- 
choly, seemed like the exhalation of a complaint too long 
repressed. Her bearing was that of fragile shuddering 
creatures who, aware of their weakness, bow their heads 
and shoulders to awaken indulgence and compassion. 

She wore a little cap like those of the knitters, a 
shabby linen gown, probably from the wardrobe of the 
mistress of the Three Mile-Stones, and shoes that were 
full of holes. Yet she was pretty, so great is the sym- 
pathetic charm of youth, so much brightness and sweet- 
ness sixteen contains. 

She was walking along the Rue Saint-Honore. At 
the Tuileries she stopped and sought shelter under a 
porte cochere. A body of armed men had stopped in the 
middle of the street to protect a member of the section 
Saint-Honore who, mounted on a post, was proposing 
that, in order to prove that patriots are not cannibals, 
the death penalty should be abolished. 

“ Except for the emigrants and manufacturers of false 
assignats !” a voice shouted. 

At the same instant a reinforcement of troops ap- 
peared, which rushed upon the group and dispersed it 
by means of bayonet-thrusts and sword -strokes. The 
street was cleared. Charlotte, more dead than alive, 
pursued her way. 

She had reached the Rue de Valois, and would gladly 
have spent a few minutes at Madame Pichoux’s, but 
the Three Mile-Stones had closed. Entering a dark 


CHARLOTTE AND ROBERT. 


139 


corridor, she ascended a stone staircase, helping herself 
by the baluster ; on reaching the third story, she took out 
her key, opened the door, and entered. The terrors of the 
walk had exhausted her. She sat down, took a piece of 
work and sewed by the dim light of a dormer window 
opening upon a court-yard, a sort of well as deep as the 
house was high. From time to time she raised her eyes 
toward the window through which she could see only 
a patch of sky. When a sparrow happened to pass, she 
remained a long time with her eyes uplifted. Her 
imagination followed it into space, and her heart desired 
a bit of bread for it. 

The disturbances were not over. Fresh outcries 
reached her from the street. They were made by an- 
other band of patriots, who complained of having been 
ill-treated by the Convention, and on whom a number of 
young men, armed with canes, had just rushed. 

“ Down with the aristocrats !” 

“ Long live the Jacobins !” 

One side sung the Reveil du Peuple, the other the 
Marseillaise. 

“ Long live the Convention !” 

“ Long live the Republic !” 

Yells, cries of terror, groans, then the uproar died 
away. 

Charlotte took up her work again, but the light had 
faded. 

Just then a pebble struck the window. 

Charlotte uttered an exclamation of joy, went to the 
chair, climbed upon it, opened the window, and put her 
head out. 

Opposite to her, on the other side of the court-yard, 
another dormer-window had opened, and a young man 


140 


THE BOMAJ^CE OF THE SWOBD. 


appeared in the space by the same means which Char- 
lotte had used. 

He was twenty years old, glowing with youth and 
health. A slight shadow barely crossed his brow from 
time to time, his brown hair was thick, his eye clear 
and keen, his smile frank. He must be both vigorous 
and good. 

The conversation began : 

“Charlotte, I have been to the Tricolored Ribbon. 
Having heard of the rioting in the streets, I was afraid 
to have you come home alone. I saw that the shop was 
closed, and returned. Nothing has happened to you?” 

“Nothing, Monsieur Robert! But I was terribly 
frightened in the Rue Saint-Honore.” 

“So was I, on your account, Charlotte. Have you 
had your dinner?” 

“ Not yet.” 

“ Do you expect your father?” 

“Yes.” 

“When will he return?” 

“Do I ever know?” 

“Will you give me a great pleasure?” 

“Certainly.” 

“ Let us dine together.” 

“What are you proposing. Monsieur Robert?” 

“ Nothing except what is perfectly proper, Charlotte. 
You shall dine at your window, and I at mine. I’ve 
brought some dainties for you : a pie, some cakes, and 
some fresh bread. If the Jacobins knew that ! Fresh 
bread ! They would be capable of accusing me of trea- 
son. Is it agreed?” 

Charlotte looked at him a long time ere she an- 
swered : 


CHARLOTTE AND ROBERT. 


141 


“Then you knew that there was nothing in the 
house?” 

“ Alas ! my poor Charlotte, I knew that that happens 
to you as often as it does to me. Didn’t you propose to 
me a fortnight ago — from window to window, of 
course — to share a dish which Madame Pichoux had 
sent to you in your father’s absence? Did I refuse? 
No. Well, I can confess now that, but for your offer, I 
should have gone to bed fasting. Only in my case that 
doesn’t matter. Are you ready? Be careful.” 

He took Charlotte’s portion, placed it in a net, 
fastened the net to a pole, and held it over to his 
neighbor. 

“ There it is!” said Charlotte, winding the net around 
the end of the pole, which the young man drew in to 
his window. 

“Now then, let us begin to eat. As to wine! The 
patriots must have drunk it all by the way they are 
yelling.” 

“ Listen.” 

The din was rising on their side. The section of the 
Rue du Vert-Bois, having joined the others, had forced 
them to return. At the top of the Rue Beaujolais, there 
was another conflict between the patriots shouting: 
“Long live the Convention! Long live the Jacobins ! 
Down with the aristocrats !” and a battalion of young 
men with black collars and turned -up hair answering by 
“ Hurrah for the Convention ! Down with the aristo- 
crats!” The shock had been vigorous and the battle 
hot. The patriots were gaining, the dominant song 
being that of La Carmagnole. 

While they were fighting, Charlotte and Robert had 
finished their meal, 


142 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


The latter had waited until the noise had lessened, to 
say to Charlotte : 

“And my dessert?” 

“ Your dessert?” 

“ You know very well.” 

“ I won’t chaffer with you about it long. Here it is.” 

She threw him a kiss, and Robert returned it in the 
same way ; then both were silent. 

Darkness had closed in so completely that they rather 
divined than saw each other. Above their heads, in 
the narrow space where, a short time before, Charlotte 
was trying to watch the flight of a sparrow, a star was 
shining. 

“ Charlotte, I love you deeply. I love you for your 
weakness, your poverty, your suffering.” 

“And I love you, Robert, for your strength in which 
I feel a sense of protection; you seem like a big brother 
who would defend me ” 

“ Until I can become your husband.” 

“Are you thinking of that? You are as poor as I, 
Robert, but you are well educated. Besides, a gulf will 
forever yawn between us — your birth.” 

“What do you know about it?” 

“There are presentiments which do not deceive. 
We are not of the same race and, though you have 
always evaded my questions, which doubtless were in- 
discreet, yet I have guessed that your origin was noble. 
Yes, Robert, everything indicates it: your appearance, 
the feelings which animate you, the impossibility j^ou 
And in choosing a trade, as if the heritage of a whole 
past rebelled against manual labor. While, as for me, 
I belong to the people. My mother who, like yours, is 
dead, was a woman of the people. My father ! Let us 


CHARLOTTE AHD ROBERT. 


143 


not speak of him ! You love me and I love you, and 
our love is a dream which can never he realized. Con- 
sole yourself for it! You have the future. Mine is 
shattered. I feel that I shall not live long. If I do 
not succumb to poverty, I shall to grief or to the conse- 
quences of a catastrophe, whose character I cannot de- 
fine, but which I foresee. Look at yonder star. That 
is where I shall live again some day !” 

Robert was about to answer, but at that very instant, 
by the side of the star Charlotte had pointed out, ap- 
peared a larger and more brilliant one, which sparkled 
a few minutes, then shot into space, and the first van- 
ished as if dragged down in its fall. 

3oth the young people remained silent ; the phenome- 
non had startled them. Charlotte’s presentiment was 
companioned by Robert’s : if their origin was different, 
their end would be the same. 

Their thoughts reverted to their first meeting, which 
had occurred three months before. 

Charlotte, on leaving the shop, had been caught in a 
street-fight, when a young man appeared who forced a 
passage through the crowd with his strong arms and 
saved the poor child from imminent danger. She was 
ill from the fright. He lavished attentions on her and 
proposed to take her home ; she accepted the offer and 
they discovered that they lived in the same house. At 
their age every feeling swiftl}" becomes love, as in the 
spring every bud quickly becomes a flower. Chance, 
which always helps lovers, made them both climb into 
the garret windows. They recognized each other and 
began to talk. The next day — was it purely accident? — 
they met in the street. Soon they reached the stage of 
confidences, outpourings of feelings. The comedy of 


144 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


love is forever repeated, and lovers are unconsciously 
plagiarists. 

A fresh outburst of noise below recalled them to 
reality. They were so near that they could distinguish 
what was said by the crowd. 

Merlin de Thionville had left the Convention to go 
among the mob, but he had trusted to his popularity in 
vain; he could not obtain a hearing. 

Men, women, and children shrieked: 

‘‘Bread! bread!” 

“My friends, you desire bread, the liberty of patriots, 
and the constitution? Then let me return to the Con- 
vention, and deliberate.” 

“Bread! bread!” 

“Wine!” shouted one man. 

The cr}^ was considered a joke, and the people forbid 
jesting when they are making demands. 

Besides, the man was drunk, and a drunken man 
degrades all humanity. Moreover, no one has a right 
to get intoxicated when others are starving. 

“Wine! wine!” 

“Water! water!” 

A rush was made upon the miserable wretch, 
who, leaping backward, propped himself against 
the wall and stood like a wild boar at bay. Blows 
and kicks rained upon him, but made no more im- 
pression than they would have done on the hide of 
a buffalo. He returned them with terrible answering 
buffets. 

The rage of the mob increased. 

“Water! water!” 

While he defended himself desperately , trying to gain 
ground, the beating of drums announced the approach 


CHARLOTTE AND ROBERT. 


145 


of the soldiery. The crowd forgot its vengeance and 
thought only of avoiding a meeting, which threatened 
to be the more dangerous because, having been on foot 
since morning, the men were furious. The drunkard 
profited by the opportunity to make his escape as fast as 
his condition permitted. He reached his home, went 
up the stairs, fell against the door rather than opened it, 
and entered. 

“ My father !” cried Charlotte in terror, leaping down 
from the window. 

Kerouan had seen the movement, but the fumes of 
the wine obscured his mind too much for him to under- 
stand it. 

“Is supper ready?” he muttered, endeavoring to hold 
himself up by a chair, the want of air increasing his 
drunkenness. 

Charlotte was less frightened than usual, she felt as 
though Robert was there to defend her. 

“ No,” she replied. 

“Why?” 

“ Because you didn’t leave me any money.” 

“ And do you give me such reasons at this hour?” 

“ I thought you would bring some.” 

“ Do you expect that I am going to feed you all your 
life?” 

“I don’t ask you for anything, father.” 

“ Don’t call me father.” 

“What shall I call you?” 

“ Kerouan ! Monsieur Kerouan ! As the sailors did 
when I went to sea. Kerouan, do j^ou hear? Kerouan ! 
As your mother called me the day when — What day? 
Who speaks of that day? It is you, you little wretch, 
you hussy ! So you have sworn to torture me?” 

10 


146 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“I’m not saying anything, Monsieur Kerouan! It is 
you who are talking.” 

“ I talk because I choose ! The day when it suits me 
to do so, I will talk still longer! Do you understand? 
And on that day, there will be misfortune !” 

He had advanced toward her with arms uplifted as 
if in malediction. 

Charlotte, more dead than alive, had taken refuge in 
a corner of the room, crouching down with her elbows 
raised to ward off a blow. 

“Yes, there will be misfortune! For the time will 
come when I must do justice! Daughter of a cur! 
Then you will see of what Kerouan, master steersman, 
is capable! But before you, there is the other! the 
other ! the other ! the other !” 

With eyes starting from their sockets, foaming with 
rage, he was fairly crazed ! His body was shaken by a 
tremor which would have inspired pity, had not terror 
conquered compassion. He rushed about the room in 
every direction, like a wild beast, a mad dog that longs 
to bite. For a moment he leaned against the wall, 
clenched his hands, raised them to his eyes, and burst 
into sobs. Unintelligible words, mingled with curses, 
escaped his lips. Madness overpowered him, and, rush- 
ing upon Charlotte, he struck her. 

The silence of the night was disturbed only by the 
distant cry of a vender of newspapers : 

“ Ask for the scandals of the Convention. Instruction 
of the Committees against the authors of the crime.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE LION IN LOVE. 

The expedition of Quiberon had failed, thanks to the 
activity of Hoche and the cowardice of Count d ’Artois, 
who, after having sailed to the coast, had insisted upon 
returning to the offing. 

Saint-Rejant had not found himself opposed to Bona- 
parte, as he had hoped. Two causes had prevented the 
latter’s being placed in command of the expedition. 

The first was that Tallien, in spite of his wife, had 
pledged himelf to Hoche; the second that General 
Bonaparte had not urged it. 

Since the evening spent with the Viscountess de 
Beauharnais at Madame Tallien ’s he had been under the 
influence of an absorbing impression. 

Everything contributed to render it ineffaceable : the 
young widow’s grace and beauty ; the sympathy which 
she herself had at once felt for him, and sympathies of 
the heart are contagious ; the contrast existing between 
this indolent, sentimental, frivolous, coquettish Creole, 
and the ardent Corsican devoted to reflection, conflict, 
action. 

He had revealed his feelings to the few persons who 
loved him: his mother, his brother Lucien; Junot, who 
was the better fitted to sympathize with him because he 
was constantly thinking of Pauline Bonaparte; Bour- 
rienne, who pitied him and gave him good advice ; last- 
147 


148 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


ly to Madame Tallien. All had encouraged his fancy, 
and Madame Tallien had promised to neglect no effort 
to obtain other interviews. 

In fact their first meeting had been succeeded by 
several, first at the “ Cottage,” then out of doors. Then 
from motives of prudence, he had not ventured to ask 
an appointment, he had made himself her shadow, 
followed and joined her. The viscountess was pleased 
with this devotion from a man who seemed at first little 
suited for love-dalliance. She was amused by his 
efforts to soften his voice, repress his natural abruptness, 
control his angry impulses, and also by the trouble he 
took to keep his long hair in better order, his uniform 
more carefully brushed, his boots neater, those unneces 
sarily large boots which had once been the object of the 
jests of the dandies who frequented the “Cottage.” 

One day, having noticed that the plumes in his hat 
were shabby, he went in search of Junot. Junot was 
expecting money from his father, but had none at his 
disposal. He then sought Bourrienne, but he had just 
started for Italy on a mission for the Ministry of Foreign 
Affairs. Madame Pichoux was next visited — she had 
gone to Normandy to buy poultry. General Bonaparte 
reflected on the absurdity of certain situations. He 
would have gained a battle for a few pounds, he would 
have conquered Toulon again for a tricolored plume. 

He shut the window, turned the key in the lock, 
opened a cupboard concealed in the thickness of the 
wall, and took out a woolen case from which he drew a 
sword — Count d’Availlac’s. 

A sunbeam fell upon it and the weapon glittered with 
dazzling lustre, the diamond in the hilt darting a thou- 
sand scintillations. On the blade, in letters of light, 


THE LION IK LOVE. 


149 


shone the symbolic words: Given by God for the 
King ! 

The sword represented a fortune. 

Napoleon gazed at it, longing only for the power 
which he attributed to it. 

If Saint-Rejant had the Breton credulity, General 
Bonaparte possessed the Corsican superstition. A secret 
instinct told him that it would cut for him a path lead- 
ing to destinies which he dared not define ; that its point 
would soon reach the very heart of the Bourbon djuiasty. 
And he reflected upon the singularity of the events 
which, after having placed this weapon in the hands of 
Henri IV., had transferred it to those of an Empress of 
Russia that, by passing through the shop of a Jew, it 
might become the property of a Republican general, 
without troops or money. Was there not a design of 
Providence in this accident? Should it not lead him 
to believe that God intended him to win victories like 
those of Arques and Ivr}^ trophies which would be his 
wedding-gift, if he should ever become the husband of 
the Viscountess de Beauharnais. 

He remained for an hour absorbed in profound medi- 
tation, one of those hours which he usually spent in 
estimating the chances of the future, his eyes wander- 
ing from the map of Europe to the sky, which beseemed 
to be reading. He restored the sword to its sheath, 
shut it up in the closet, finished his toilet, and went 
downstairs. What mattered the shape of his boots, 
the shabbiness of his coat, or the condition of his 
feathers? Was he not young, brave, and ambitious, 
three qualities to achieve success in a period where 
taking the initiative was most frequently victorious? 

The image of Madame de Beauharnais again rose 


150 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


before him. He had evoked it that he might accustom 
himself to her presence and not be overwhelmed with 
confusion. He was aware of his sudden fits of anger, 
his abrupt manners, and feared that they might alarm 
her. Viscountess de Beauharnais was a tropical flower, 
accustomed to the warmth of hot-houses. He must see 
that, in the awkward eagerness of the soldier, he did not 
compel her to fold up her petals as if at the breath of 
the passing hurricane. 

He had reached the Rue Chantereine and, deeply 
agitated, rang the bell. It was the first time that the 
viscountess had permitted to him to call on her at her 
own house, or rather the one which she rented from the 
Citizeness Talma. A porter opened the door, and led 
the way through a passage across a court-yard contain- 
ing a stable in which were two horses and a shed that 
sheltered a red cow, then a garden, ascended four steps 
and entered a dining-room which served for a drawing- 
room, the drawing-room having been transformed into 
a dressing-room. He then withdrew after having given 
the visitor’s name to the viscountess’ maid, Citizeness 
Louise Compoint. 

General Bonaparte surveyed the apartment, which 
contained tables of Guadaloupe wood, with marble tops 
and ornaments of gilded copper, and four chairs covered 
with black horsehair. That was all. But is the tem- 
ple ever empty when the divinity is there? He knew 
that she was close at hand; he heard her talking in a 
low tone with the maid, walking as swiftly as dignity 
permitted. Through the door, which had been left 
ajar, floated her favorite perfumes, perfumes which 
thrilled and even disconcerted him. 

The door opened to admit the hostess, dressed in a 


THE LIOK IN LOVE. 


151 


powdered blonde wig, and a gown fitting her figure 
closely without the aid of a corset or even braces. But 
the figure was so indolently supple, so full of voluptuous 
grace, so charming. She welcomed him with an ex- 
pression of infinite sweetness in her long-lashed eyes, 
and a bewitching smile. 

“ At last ! you have made up your mind to come !” 

He wished to explain, but she gave him no time to do 
so. She had seen Madame Tallien the evening before, 
and she had spoken of him again. He would soon have 
the command of a regiment of artillery. Not only was 
Madame Tallien interesting herself in his behalf, but a 
Segur, a Montesquieu, a Gaulaincourt. There was no 
harm in allowing himself to be favored a little by the 
nobility, the true French nobility, who had not taken 
up arms against Frenchmen. So she meant to subdue 
his excessive Republicanism. She would teach him to 
respect all who were worthy of esteem — the working- 
people, the soldier who fights, and the noble who serves 
his native land either in the administration, diplomacy, 
or the army. 

Every word was emphasized by a special intonation, 
the Creole accent, which is a caress, a music which 
enamored hearts resist the less the more they are 
steeped in it, accented by graceful gesticulation, a move- 
ment of the body that can be compared only to that of 
tropical plants swaying their flowers like the censers of 
an unknown Paradise. Her long lashes quivered, her 
smile was that of an angel just alighted on this earth, 
she put out her little hands near enough to touch him, 
and her feet, the tiny little feet just fit to kiss. And 
the general especially admired delicate, dainty feet. 
He had told her so a few days before. 


152 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


And General Bonaparte without resistance allowed 
himself to be captivated by everything emanating from 
her: beauty, charm, conviction. If he recovered his 
self-possession, it was to venture the bound of a young 
lion longing to overleap the narrow limits of its cage. 
And the viscountess, who had passed her thirty-second 
year, saw in the ardor of this general of twenty-six the 
charm of a sovereignty to be exerted, and an excitable 
temperament to be speedily calmed. 

“ Ah, Madame, only let them give me the opportunity 
to distinguish myself again ! I will cover myself with 
glory and lay my laurels at your feet !” 

“And then?” 

“ Then you will be the mistress of my fate.” 

“ You talk like a child ! You are young, very young, 
though events have so greatly matured you. You 
represent the future ; I already belong to the past. Yes, 
the past; a husband who died on the scaffold, two 
children to educate, for whom I feel an affection which 
nothing can diminish. No fortune-, except a little money 
which comes to me from the West Indies when the 
English do not prevent it. I owned some estates which 
have been sold ; money was due me, but will never be 
paid. The credit of the bankers is exhausted; the 
most friendly are already advising me to go to Ham- 
burg, where it seems that remittances are more easily 
obtained. While you have the prospect of a career 
which your will, and perhaps your genius, will open to 
you. It would be madness, let us sa}^ no more about it.” 

Ah! Venus Victrix! How cleverly the words were 
chosen to complete the infatuation of the man who 
loved her. How ingeniously she made difficulties, 
knowing that he would find in them an opportunity for 


THE LIOH IH LOVE. 


153 


action and conflict. How she foresaw that the idea of 
an impossibility would only serve to render him so 
much the more obstinate. 

“If you believe in this genius, trust yourself to it.” 

She was about to reply, when the maid announced a 
visit from Monsieur Hippolyte Charles. 

General Bonaparte cursed the intruder, as he saw 
the man whom we have already met at the*^ hree Mile- 
stones as one of the conspirators of the Black Cross. 

Monsieur Charles wore a fashionable hunting cos- 
tume. He saluted General Bonaparte as he passed in 
front. of him, but like a man who merely observes dis- 
cipline, approached Madame de Beauharnais, kissed 
her hands familiarly, and taking a seat near her, asked : 

“ Is there any news?” 

“ I ought to put that question to you.” 

“ Well, my fair one, let me think; as to the fashions : 
the common people are beginning to protest against the 
Greek tunic.” 

“ Impossible !” 

“ So possible that yesterday there was a scandal at the 
Opera. Countess de Ravaisson entered, dressed in airy 
muslins, with an Iphigenia veil confined by a wreath of 
white roses. The pit began to hiss. A few minutes 
after a Madame Volant, a rich shopkeeper, appeared 
wearing a high-necked, black velvet gown with a dia- 
mond clasp. The pit applauded.” 

“ It is inconceivable !” 

“You have used the right word. This comes from 
the drawing-rooms of the plebeians, from Madame 
Hainguerolt, who is trying to unite the remnants of 
the Constitutionalists; from Madame Devaines, whose 
sole object is to reconcile Suard, the Abbe Morellet, 


154 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWOED. 


Simeon, and Thibaudeau; from Madame Hamelin. 
What else? With regard to the theatres, there is a 
rumor that the concerts in the Rue Feydeau are to be 
reopened. Day before yesterday, at the Comedie- 
Frangaise the Reveil du Peuple was sung as falsely as 
if the people had been singing it themselves.” 

“ Were you there?” 

“ From the commencement, my goddess, in Freron’s 
box. A splendid house, magnificent women, all the 
fashionable young men. Above were a few Terrorists, 
who were recognized and compelled to leave the build- 
ing. I believe you have been to the Theatre Moliere?”* 

“Not yet.” 

“ Don’t fail to go, my queen ! They are playing ‘The 
Jacobin’s Supper’ by one Armand Charlemagne. It’s 
enough to make you fairly die laughing. The curtain 
rises on a conventicle of Terrorists-. Four of them, 
meeting after the 9th Thermidor, have assembled in a 
room to sup together incognito, while recalling their 
exploits. One of the guests is missing, but his excuse 
is valid : he has met on his way the reactionary cane. 
One named Crassidoi sings : 

‘His excuse, friends, may be read on his shoulder.’ 

Solm sings : 

‘A trivial hurt?’ 

Cassidor answers : 


‘Precisely !’ 


And Solm : 


‘ I know 

What it is. Our friends are somewhat subject to it. ’ 


THE LION IN LOVE. 


155 


No, I can’t describe it! Such a success! And Forlis! 
Forlis is a personage who comes out of prison and relates 
his crime. I committed this passage to memory : 

‘My linen was fine and I powdered my hair, 

So the word muscadin* the jail record did bear. 

We know that in those days they asked nothing more 
To send men in the death cart the last journey o’er. 

It sharpened the wits and caused many a scheme, 

E’en asleep, I’ve conspired in the midst of a dream I’ 

“ I should never stop if I tried to tell everything, my 
goddess.” 

While he was speaking and the viscountess listening 
with apparent pleasure in his loquacity. General Bona- 
parte confronted him, vexed by the attitude he assumed, 
the attention he occupied, his self-possession and 
familiarity. 

When he paused, he remarked : 

“Pardon me, but you seem very dilatory for a 
soldier.” 

“ General ” 

“ And very awkward too. It is easy for you to see, 
by my uniform, that I serve the Republic, as you are 
reputed to do, and therefore everything which has a 
flavor of Bourbonism must be excessively disagreeable 
to me. Now your jests seem intended to rehabilitate a 
class with which at present we have every reason io be 
dissatisfied ; a class which took refuge in a foreign land 
where it conspires and betrays. As to your muscadins, 
let them beware! I don’t know the exact weight of 
your reactionary canes, but I know that our swords 
are sharp enough to cut off ears.” 

* Dandy. 


156 


THE KOMAKCE OF THE SWORD. 


While the officer was enduring the reproof uttered in 
a very imperious tone, the viscountess gazed at General 
Bonaparte with looks of mingled anger and entreaty. 
Evidently the rebuke did not please her. Monsieur 
Charles made no reply, but took leave of his hostess and 
retired. 

“Well!” cried Madame de Beauharnais, “you have 
done a very fine thing.” 

“Did you desire this gentleman’s presence?” 

“ You did not take the trouble to ask me before insult- 
ing him.” 

“ A muscadin r 

“ He is not the only one.” 

“Some partisan of Louis XVIII. concealed under a 
uniform.” 

“Are all the officers Republicans?” 

“If I knew one who permitted himself to feel the 
slightest sympathy for the princes, I would have him 
shot like a mangy cur. A blackguard ” 

“ General !” 

“Who, not content with deafening us by his non- 
sense, fit only to amuse a sick woman, persumed to call 
you his fair one, his goddess, and his queen.” 

“Were you jealous?” 

“ Of that fool? Heaven forbid !” 

“General, you are not telling the truth.” 

“ If I were capable of being jealous of a booby like 
that, I should run too much risk of lowering myself in 
your eyes, Madame.” 

“You are mistaken there.” 

“ Do you wish to trifle with me?” 

“ I am speaking seriously. We cannot occupy all our 
time with politics or military strategy. His gossip 


THE LION IN LOVE. 


157 


entertains me. He is a diverting fellow. An hour of 
his conversation is restful and amusing.” 

“ I don’t believe it. You want to make me angry. 
Hush!” 

As he uttered the “ hush !” he stopped short, ashamed 
and vexed with himself for having yielded to this impulse 
to command, which constantly overmastered him even 
in the presence of her whom it was a delight to obey. 

Viscountess de Beauharnais smiled at this evidence of 
jealousy. There is no jealousy without love, and it 
proved that General Bonaparte was captivated by her. 

She smiled because, in roaring, the lion which she 
was proud of taming showed that he had teeth. The 
danger afforded secret delight. And had not this 
irritability always been characteristic of great men? 
How must he not become great in order afterward to 
illumine her with a ray of his glory, as well as to be 
able to purchase the house of Mademoiselle Julie, now 
the Citizeness Talma, a house, land and buildings in- 
cluded, worth fifty thousand francs?. 

She led him into her bedroom, where Louise Corn- 
point sat at the window sewing. There she would bind 
him more firmly, amid the familiar furniture, near 
Benaud’s harp and the little white marble bust of 
Socrates. Napoleon had a glimpse through the half- 
open door of the dressing-room, filled with mirrors of 
every kind, and inhaled the subtle fragrance surround- 
ing a woman well versed in the art of inspiring love. 
The effect was immediate. He again became the sup- 
plicant who, speaking in a low tone, on account of the 
presence of the maid, reverted to the question of mar- 
riage. He was summoned to great achievements. He 
possessed a talisman which must render him powerful 


158 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


and, if he desired, would make him a rich man at once. 
And he was delighted to point out to her the relation 
existing between this fetich and the prediction of the 
negress in Martinique on the shore of the endless sea, 
which is also a fathomless problem. 

She believed it because she wished to do so, and they 
parted with a promise. 

History has said — with a kiss. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


REPUBLICANS AND SECTIONISTS. 

Fear had succeeded anxiety ; the shops were closed, 
and the beating of the drums drowned the voices of the 
cries summoning the citizens to their sections. 

What had happened? 

The constitution had been accepted with great unan- 
imity, and the acceptance was the death-blow of the 
sectionists who had flattered themselves with being- 
delivered from what they called the two-thirds. They 
had tried to contest the regularity of the elections, but 
were soon compelled to renounce this, all the proofs 
being furnished. Then they chose the only means 
left : insurrection. Meeting at the Odeon Theatre they 
charged upon the police and the dragoons. The sec- 
tions of Lepelletier, la Butte-des-Moulins, du Contrat- 
Social, du Theatre-Frangais, du Luxembourg, de la Rue 
Poissoniere, de Brutus, du Temple declared for the 
rebellion. 

Three men were closely watching the progress of 
events: General Bonaparte, Junot, and Bourrienne. 

The general, bending over his table, was studying 
the plan of Paris. 

Junot and Bourrienne were going about the city 
gathering news which, from time to time, they brought 
to their friend. 

When Napoleon had examined the map sufficiently 
159 


160 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


he rose, pacing up and down the room in great agitation. 

Two thoughts completely absorbed him : rage at being 
reduced to inaction and the possibility of obtaining the 
hand of Viscountess de Beauharnais, thoughts ■which, 
though so unlike at the first glance, were closely con- 
nected. 

If the defence of the laws were entrusted to him, he 
would quell the riot. Quelling the riot would snatch 
the conqueror of Toulon from oblivion ; the ability to 
win fresh laurels would put an end to poverty and en- 
able him to become the husband of the woman he loved. 

Every time the uproar from the streets reached his 
ears, he started with a movement of impatience and 
rage. Once, hearing the rapid marching of soldiers, he 
raised his clenched hand toward Heaven, which con- 
demned him to silence and inaction. 

Conquering the insurrection meant another defeat for 
the royal party. And, in spite of himself, he felt a twinge 
of jealousy against Hoche, who had just won so glori- 
ous a victory at Quiberon. 

Besides, he was considering events of the utmost 
importance. 

This day was easily foreseen, every revolutionary 
tempest leading inevitably to action and reaction. 
There was no harmony between ideas and institutions, 
and everything in the political, as well as in the physi- 
cal world, is subject to that law of nature which requires 
eVents to balance one another. When this equilibrium 
is destroyed, there is nothing except collision, upheaval, 
and chaos, until the two scales, poising, resume their 
proper position. So, from ’89 to ’95, ideas and institu- 
tions no longer balancing, no longer being on the same 
level, the world had been and must continue to witness 


REPUBLICANS AND SECTIONISTS. 


161 


the constant action and reaction of liberty against despot- 
ism and despotism against liberty, of equality against 
privilege and privilege against equality. The roj^al 
declaration of the 23d was the reaction from the union 
of the three orders; the night of August 5th the reaction 
from the 23d of June. 

“ Ah !” he murmured, soldiers and laws !” 

The door opened and a voice cried: “Bonaparte.” 

“ Is it you, Junot?” 

“Are you dreaming?” 

“Speak quickly.” 

“ Forty members have met to discuss the measures to 
be executed.” 

“Forty chatterers.” 

“Eighty! Each talks enough for two.” 

“Forty lawyers discussing executive measures are 
not likely to agree, in the first place and, secondly, to 
act with the necessary sternness and precision.” 

“ They have appointed three Representatives to direct 
the armed force.” 

Three authorities without energy.” 

“Finally, Menou has received marching orders.” 

“ Menou is a brave officer, but a weak man, incapable 
of forming a sudden resolution. On the 4th Prairial, 
he marched upon the faubourgs because the object was 
to subdue the rabble. N^ow, in the presence of the 
nobles and well-to-do citizens, he will hesitate. An 
insurrection cannot be put down with parleying and 
sentimentality, but with shot and shell. I had the_ 
experience twice in Corsica. Everything depends 
upon the promptitude of the decision, that is, the sur- 
prise and implacability of the repression. Ah, here 
is Bourrienne. Well, Bourrienne, I know the atti- 
11 


162 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


tude of the Representatives and the order received by 
Menou.” 

“Is that all?” asked Bourrienne. 

“That is all.” 

“Well, Menou is afraid.” 

“What did I say, Junot?” 

“ He marched his columns too late ; he allowed the 
sections to proclaim everything they desired ; he nego- 
tiated secretly with some of their leaders; he refused 
to have the battalion of patriots under his command ” 

“ I had the battery of the Tatterdemalions !” 

“ In short, on reaching the convent of the Daughters 
of Saint Thomas, he made his men turn back, from the 
fear of shedding too much blood.” 

“ He ought to be shut up in the convent. The nuns 
would take the place of the sectionists. What did the 
Representatives do then?” 

“They sent to Generals Despierre and Debar, who 
were not at their posts.” 

“From fear of compromising themselves!” 

“Finally they appointed a commander.” 

“ Who?” 

“ Barras.” 

“Barras! Yes, he fought well in Thermidor. But 
Barras "is Viscount Paul de Barras. He belongs to the 
oldest nobility of Provence. Barras is a rake. Barras 
has all the faults of the Bourbons. Why choose him 
to combat them? And when I am here, I who took 
Toulon, and was victor at Saorgio and La Roya. They 
had only to consult all the deputies sent to the army of 
Italy ! Barras !” 

He was interrupted by a knock at the door. 

“ Open it, Junot.” 


REPUBLICANS AND SECTIONISTS. 


163 


An orderly entered, went directly to General Bona- 
parte and, handing him a paper, said : 

“From Citizen General Barras.” 

The general opened it and, glancing at the contents, 
exclaimed : 

“ Thanks, I will go !” 

When the messenger had left the room, Junot and 
Bourrienne exclaimed in the same breath : 

“Well?” 

“ Well, my friends, Barras sends for me. My sword, 
Junot! My hat, Bourrienne ! It is a repetition of the 
other evening. Only this time I hope I am not going 
on parade.” 

“Forgetful man!” said Junot reproachfully. 

“ Ingrate !” added Bourrienne. 

The general stopped. On that parade he had seen 
the viscountess for whom he was perhaps to win another 
victory. 

“You are both right!” he cried, giving one hand to 
Junot and the other to Bourrienne. “We will soon 
meet again.” And he rushed downstairs. 

Half an hour later, he entered the presence of Gen- 
eral Barras, who was surrounded by a group of members 
of the Convention and army officers. 

“ Do you accept the charge of the military arrange- 
ments, General Bonaparte?” asked Barras. 

“ With all my heart.” 

“The rebels ” 

“ I know where they are.” 

“ The steps to be taken?” 

“I am familiar with them.” 

“What is to be done?” 

“ In a time of disturbance a general must be ready 


164 


THE ROMANCE OE THE SWORD. 


for every emergency, and in the little room where Aubry 
prisoned me, I have planned the victory. Citizens, this 
is no time for speeches nor tine phrases. The insurrec- 
tion is led by Count de Maulevrier, a Vendean ; Lafond, 
an emigrant; Generals Duhoux and Danican, who com- 
manded the Republican forces in La Vendee. . The sec- 
tions of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, under Maule- 
vrier ’s orders will start from the Odeon to attack the 
Tuileries by the bridges. They have no other road to 
follow. The sections of the right bank will attack 
through the Rue Saint-Honore and the cross-streets 
running from the Rue Saint-Honore to the Tuileries. I 
have known the plan for five days. Lastly, Lafond, 
I am informed, is to take possession of the Pont-N'euf, 
in order to establish a communication between the two 
divisions of the insurgent army. How many men have 
you?” 

“Five thousand.” 

“The rebels?” 

“Forty thousand.” 

“ I was correctly informed. The Convention must be 
made an entrenched camp. The sections have no 
cannon. They gave them up after the 4th Prairial. Is 
the park of artillery still at the encampment of the 
Sablons?” 

“ Yes.” 

He beckoned to a major. 

“ Murat, go with three hundred cavalry and bring it 
here. At the slightest resistance, sabre resolutely.” 

“Rely upon me,” replied Murat, and disappeared. 

“ Let us see, we said five thousand men. The troop 
of patriots contains about fifteen hundred; with the 
Gendarmes of the Tribunals, the Legion of the Police, 


REPUBLICANS AND SECTIONISTS. 


165 


and the Invalides there will be eight thousand. Let 
these men be notified. Send three officers to them. 
Quick!” 

Off went the three officers. 

“ Another to bring the cartridges from Meudon and 
Marly. You, Grandchamp. Yery well. Now the 
artillery and the troops must be stationed at every point 
where the Convention is threatened. Artillery officers, 
advance. As soon as Murat returns, place guns at all 
the outlets of the Rues Dauphine, I’Echelle, Rohan, 
and Saint-Nicaise, at the Pont-Neuf, Pont-Royal, Pont- 
Louis XVI. and on the squares of Louis XV. and Ven- 
dome. Four and five pounders.” 

“ If they force an egress? 

“You will maintain an intermittent firing. Oh! two 
eight-pounders and two howitzers must be stationed in 
the Carrousel, to destroy the houses from which they 
will fire on the square. The line of defence will extend 
from the Pont-Neuf along the quays and the right bank 
of the Seine to the Champs Ely sees.” 

“General, the rebels have possession of the whole of 
the Rue Saint- Honore, and the squares of Vendome, 
Saint Roch, and the Palais- Royal.” 

“ I know it. Berruyer will march upon them with the 
battalion of the Quinze-Vingts, preceded and followed 
by pickets of dragoons. Carteaux, you will take com- 
mand of the column stretching from the Pont-Neuf 
to the Jardin de V Infante. Vachet, I need two guns 
near the Hotel de Longueville, two four-pounders 
in the Feuillants. Rouget, you must organize at 
once a reserve corps formed, with cannon, on the 
Place de la Revolution in order to secure a retreat 
upon the heights of Saint-Cloud. The cavalry and 


166 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


infantry will remain in reserve on the Carrousel and 
in the garden of the Tuileries. Commissaries, you 
will transport the stores. I shall want an ambulance 
too. The troops will be ordered to await attack and 
not provoke it.” 

“French blood will flow,” sighed some one in the 
group. 

“ Who said that?” 

He looked at the speaker, whose identity he had 
already guessed, like a lion whose prey is disputed. 

“Of course it will flow. Who desired it? But a 
man must be destitute of sense and reason, or cherish 
very baleful designs, not to admit that the time for con- 
ciliatory measures is over. What has been accom- 
plished by all the addresses published for the last ten 
days by the Convention? Have they advanced the 
general reconciliation a single step? Have they restored 
to the Representatives of the nation the respect of the 
sections of Paris? Have they re-established confldence? 
Have the factionists abandoned even one of their auda- 
cious demands? Have not these parleys, these equiv- 
ocal transactions, these filthy proclamations, produced 
an effect directly opposite to the promises of their 
authors? French blood will flow ! What does it matter 
if the seeds are red, provided that the harvest is fruit- 
ful? To horse!” 

A few minutes after, General Bonaparte mounted his 
charger and dashed toward the Tuileries, leaving his 
listeners amazed by the promptness and the sagacity of 
his orders. 

While giving them, he seemed fairly transformed. 
His short, fragile body was animated by a vitality 
which had lessened during his condemnation to inaction. 




REPUBLICANS AND SECTIONISTS. 16'7 

His hollow cheeks, usually so pale, flushed, and sparks 
seemed to dart from his fixed, piercing eyes. 

At that hour, on the black horse placed at his dis- 
posal, which struck fire from its iron-shod hoofs as he 
dashed along, he looked like the demigod of battle. 


CHAPTER IX. 


IN WHICH CALIGULA IS CAPTAIN AND PICHOUX 
WATCHMAN. 

Hostilities had begun. 

The section Poissonniere had stopped the artiller)’ 
horses and weapons moving toward the section of 
Quinze-Vingts; that of Mont-Blanc the supplies in- 
tended for the Tuileries. A detachment of the section 
Lepelletier had taken possession of the Treasury. 

At the first round of firing, Pichoux had considered 
it his duty to put on his National Guard uniform and 
offer his services to the Reaction. 

Madame Pichoux vainly tried to prevent him. 

“Wife,” he answered, “besides my love for warfare, 
three reasons urge me to fight. The first is : General 
Bonaparte has been ordered to defend the Convention.” 

“ How do you know?” 

“He was seen on horseback at the Tuileries.” 

“ Ah !” murmured Madame Pichoux, sufficiently agi- 
tated to betray herself to a husband less preoccupied 
than the master of the Three Mile-Stones. 

“ So it is a fine opportunity for me to prove my ability. 
Seeing how a Pichoux defends his king, he will judge 
how he would defend his wife. The second is: if I had 
a chance to perform an act of heroism, what a recom- 
mendation it would be to my princes! Finally, the 
third is that I should not be sorry to enter the Assembly, 
168 


CALIGULA AND PICHOUX. 


1G9 


ascend the tribune, and show the members of the Con- 
vention the depth of their ingratitude to me.” 

“ And what if you should be killed?” 

“ Killed?” 

“Yes.” 

Pichoux had not faced this prospect. 

“If I am killed,” he replied, “well ” 

“ Well?” 

“ There, I won’t answer you. You are always asking 
ridiculous questions.” 

And putting his gun on his right shoulder, he went 
off, leaving Madame Pichoux even more iudignant than 
anxious. 

Pichoux’s difficulty was to choose a section, for while 
applauding all, he belonged to none. 

He thought of the Butte-des-Moulins, which was 
nearest to his establishment, and was walking toward it, 
humming a royalist song to give himself a careless air, 
when, at the head of the Rue Richelieu, he was accosted 
by an officer belonging to the section. 

“Where are you going?” 

“ To the section.” 

“ I will save you the trouble.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you look like a brave man.” 

“You may well say so.” 

“ In that case, you shall carry this order for me at 
once.” 

“Where?” 

“ To Colonel Fauvieres, whom you will find on the 
lower side of the church of Saint-Roch.” 

“ Give it to me.” 

“And I wish you good luck.” 


170 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD, 


Pichoux straightened himself. 

He had been told that he looked like a brave man, 
and entrusted with an important mission! This was 
something like. The Royalists did not take long to 
find out what he was, while the Republicans were so 
unwdlling to do it. 

He walked on tiptoe to make himself still tall- 
er in his own eyes as well as those of the passers- 
by. He would have given a year of his life to have 
his wife see him, and twice as much to have his 
princes. 

While walking down the Rue Saint-Honore Pichoux 
hesitated. 

He asked himself why, and was forced to admit that 
his courage was failing. His wife’s remark came back 
to his memory. 

What if he should be killed ! 

He was approaching the centre of danger. He knew 
the insurgents were at Saint-Roch and the neighbor- 
hood. He also knew that General Bonaparte was at 
the Tuileries and consequently so, too, were the Repub- 
lican troops. Therefore the most furious fighting would 
take place in these localities, and he was not far from 
the furnace. 

Suppose he should retreat? 

He was already preparing to turn, back ; but he fore- 
saw what a series of mortifications would await him on 
his return; the jests of Madame Pichoux, who was 
already so little disposed to recognize his heroic quali- 
ties, those of the neighbors, the king’s partisans, per- 
haps the king himself ! To say nothing of the order he 
was commanded to carry. To retrace his steps with an 
order on which the fate of royalty might depend would 


CALIGULA AKD PICHOUX. 


171 


have been criminal and, if he were made to atone for 
the treacher}’’, more dangerous than to brave the bullets 
of the enemy. So he went on. 

But it was no longer the same man. Instead of 
raising himself on tiptoe, Pichoux walked on his heels; 
instead of standing proudly erect his knees shook under 
him ; instead of carrying his head up like a matador, he 
fixed his eyes on the pavement; finally, instead of hum- 
ming Royalist songs, he maintained the silence of a man 
absorbed in thought. 

The Rue Sainte-Aime was deserted, but from the 
direction of the Tuileries and Saint-Roch came an in- 
distinct murmur, indicating the presence of men who 
only awaited the signal to rush forward. 

A few paces from the church, he started aside. 

A sentinel, stationed under a porte-cochere, seized 
his arm and drawing him into it, asked : “ Where are 
you going?” 

“ To carry Colonel Fauvieres an order.” 

“ Follow me.” 

“Gladly,” replied Pichoux, and, while accompanying 
the soldier, he added : “ Tell me, my friend, are they 

really going to fight?” 

“ Going to fight ! Things will be at a white heat in 
half an hour.” 

“Are we in force?” 

“We shall make but a mouthful of the army.” 

“ Some mouthfuls choke !” 

“ I tell you that the business will be settled in an hour. 
We shall sleep in the Convention this evening. Except 
those who are killed, of course.” 

The sentinel’s reflection reminded Pichoux a second 
time of his wife’s remark. 


l72 THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 

He asked another question, but in a very unsteady 
tone: “ Do you think we shall lose many men?” 

“ Zounds ! They have cannon, and we forgot to take 
any.” 

“ Ah ! they have cannon ! And we have none !” 

Pichoux, who was merely watching for an opportunity 
to beat a retreat, was about to plead the impossibility 
of serving a cause without artillery, when he was 
stopped by fear of the colonel, in whose presence he 
found himself. 

“That is satisfactory,” said the latter after reading 
the paper. “Now, do you see that house? Go up on 
the roof and watch what is happening in the Eue Saint- 
Honore. As soon as you see the cannon, come down 
and tell me.” 

Pichoux did not wait for a second order. 

The place offered to him had every appearance of 
being a post of confidence, and presented no danger. 
It flattered his vanity without imposing too severe a 
test of his courage. He could hope for nothing better. 

The first person whom the master of the Three Mile- 
stones saw, after climbing to the top of the house, that 
is, five stories, was Caligula, wearing a plumed hat, 
whose feathers were so enormous that he looked like 
the chief of an Indian tribe. 

To what circumstances did he owe this prodigious dis- 
play of plumage? 

Early in the morning, while hesitating what trade to 
follow during the day, that of hawker of proclamations, 
ticket-seller before the Feydeau, or quadrille leader at 
the Richelieu, he had learned that the sections were 
threatening the Convention, and immediately concluded 
that his duty as a patriot required him to act in its 


CALIGULA AND PICHOUX. 


173 


defence. Caligula saw the troops gathered around the 
Tuileries, and applied to several captains who, not 
knowing him, answered somewhat harshly that this 
was no day to mix civilians and soldiers. 

Caligula felt some degree of mortification and a great 
deal of resentment. In a time of equality there should 
be neither non-commissioned officers, nor officers, the 
regimental aristocracy. All ought to be soldiers and 
colonels in turn. In this way there would be neither 
humiliation nor jealousy. If ever he was deputy, he 
would make a motion in this direction. Caligula was 
already arranging the form of words, when he met a 
party of armed citizens who, like himself, had come to 
offer their services to fight, with no response except a 
refusal. Their surprise had been great, but their in- 
dignation was still greater. Some proposed to beat the 
call to arms and organize a special company under the 
name of the Convention Volunteers; others wanted to 
march on the insurgents and prove that, because a man 
was in civil life, he need not lack courage. 

Just at that moment Caligula saw in the Place du 
Carrousel two generals on horseback, surrounded by 
officers to whom they were giving orders. 

“ Who are those generals?” Caligula asked a stone- 
cutter, who was armed to the teeth. 

“ General Bonaparte and General Barras. The first 
is the thin man on a black horse.” 

‘^I’m going to speak to him.” 

“You are crazy.” 

“Why shouldn’t I? A man is a man. Liberty, 
fraternity, equality, I know nothing else.” 

Putting his hands in his pockets he went forward, 
humming the Carmagnole. 


174 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Within a few paces of General Bonaparte he was 
stopped by a grenadier. 

“ I tell you I want to speak to General Bonaparte. I 
don’t suppose it’s necessary to have sprung from 
Jupiter’s thigh to accomplish that.” 

Caligula had uttered the words loudly enough to be 
heard by the general, who suddenly raised his head and 
said to the grenadier : “ What is it?” 

“A citizen insists upon speaking to you.” 

“ Let him come.” 

Caligula took his hands out of his pockets, raised his 
head, and said firmly : 

“This is the point. General. There are fifty of us 
good patriots who claim the honor of having our heads 
broken under your orders.” 

“ Who prevents you?” 

“Your officers.” 

“They are wrong. Have you a commander?” 

“Not yet. But — ” Caligula instantly added, his 
principles of equality having vanished before the pros- 
pect of leadership, “ I am perfectly capable of acting in 
that position.” 

“ I’ll appoint you captain for to-day. Tell them so 
and bring them here. The people will form my staff.” 

At these words Caligula, prouder than Artaban, went 
back to the others, told them General Bonaparte’s 
answer, rushed off to buy on credit the bunch of 
multicolored plufties, which he fastened in his hat, 
and returned to assume command on the conditions 
named. 

Pichoux did not cease to watch him from the roof ; 
not that he was surprised to see him among the de- 
fenders of the Convention, but puzzled by the number of 


CALIGULA AND PICHOUX. 


175 


his plumes, when Caligula, raising his head, recognized 
in his turn the master of the Three Mile-Stones. 

Perhaps it would have been his duty to point him out 
to one of his men, who could have tried whether he was 
within gunshot, but an order not to commence hostili- 
ties had been issued. Besides, positive as his convic- 
tions might be, he would have felt unwilling to make 
an old acquaintance fall from so great a height. Cali- 
gula contented himself with making signs to him, 
which Pichoux answered by others. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE 13th VENDEMIAIRE. 

While Caligula and Pichoux, five stories apart, were 
defying each other, Danican had thought it his duty, 
before beginning the battle, to send a flag of truce 
offering unacceptable conditions. The envoy having 
been sent back, Danican thought it an opportune time 
to attack. The firing came from the rebels. 

Bonaparte spurred his horse and, followed by Barras, 
dashed to the post of the blind alley Dauphine opposite 
to the church of Saint-Roch. 

The firing now became terrible. 

The discharge of musketry" from the church and the 
windows of the Rue du Dauphine was furious. 

The insurgents had the advantage. Entrenched in 
the private houses and the church of Saint-Roch, pro- 
tected by the angles formed by the buildings at the 
end of the street, they could aim without showing them- 
selves and therefore fire more rapidly and surely. 

When their bullets failed to strike the Republicans, 
who were huddled together in a confused heap, they hit 
the side walls and rebounded upon them. 

The first step was to dislodge them from Saint-Roch, 
but the mission was extremely dangerous. 

General Bonaparte recognized the man whom he had 
made captain a few moments before. 

“Do you want to earn your rank?” 

176 


THE 13th VENDEMIAIRE. 


177 


“By all means.” 

“You won’t be too much afraid of uncurling your 
feathers?” 

“Nor of burning them.” 

“Bring an eight-pounder in front of Saint-Roch.” 

“At once.” 

Caligula gave the order to his men, and placed him- 
self at their head. 

He must reach the Rue Saint-Honore. 

The enemy’s musketry was making great havoc in 
the ranks of the volunteers. 

The narrow alley which they were compelled to enter, 
encumbered by the piece of ordnance, would not per- 
mit them to manoeuvre and scarcely allowed them to 
aim. 

“ One more pull and forward !” shouted Caligula. 

The men dragging the cannon made another effort, 
sinking up to their ankles. 

At last the Rue Saint-Honore was reached. The 
gun, properly aimed, thundered, and Caligula cried: 
“ Take your side-arms ! Forward !” 

Sheltered by the smoke he rushed onward, inspiriting 
his followers and awakening the admiration of two men : 
General Bonaparte and Pichoux. The latter, hidden 
behind a chimney and forgetting the order received 
from his commander to report anything of interest, 
was watching every movement of the extempore 
captain. 

But Caligula’s onset was checked. They were re- 
ceived by a hail-storm of bullets from the porch of 
the church, the Rue Neuve, and both sides of the Rue 
Saint-Honore, assailing the brave little handful of men 
in the front, the rear, and on both sides. 

12 


178 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Caligula had an idea. “Let the drums beat the 
charge,” he cried. 

“We have no drum!” said one of his followers. 

“ They have several. It’s against every principle of 
equality.” 

He sprang upon a drummer who had ventured 
too far in advance, struck him down with a blow 
of his sword, snatched his drum and sticks and, 
passing them to his neighbor, asked: “Are you a 
musician?” 

“ I have the big drum in the band of the Filles Saint- 
Thomas.” 

“Whoever can do great things can accomplish 
smaller ones. Try.” 

The man beat the charge. 

Fresh enthusiasm fired every heart, and the whole 
band dashed forward again. 

Pichoux, who began to tremble for his party, said to 
himself : 

“That rascally Caligula! he’s a devil of a fellow.” 

The insurgents discharged a still more terrible fire, 
but the attack was so impetuous that they were soon 
dislodged. 

General Bonaparte ordered up more cannon which, 
facing to the right and the left, swept the whole length 
of the Rue Saint-Honore. The rebels fled in disorder 
toward the headquarters of the Filles Saint-Thomas 
where, by Danican’s orders, they joined the columns 
which came from the Faubourg Saint-Germain and the 
Rue Dauphine, under the command of Lafond and Count 
de Maulevrier, followed the Quay Voltaire, and 
marched upon the Pont Royal. 

General Bonaparte stationed a battery at the head of 


THE 13th VENDEMIAIRE. 


179 


the Pont Royal to command the quay and repel the 
attack. 

The Place Vendome was swept, the Palais-Royal 
invested. The Republicans had won the victory. 

By the accident of the manoeuvres, at six o’clock in 
the afternoon, the hour when victory was certain, Calig- 
ula found himself in the precise spot whence, a few 
hours before, he had seen Pichoux. At the same mo- 
ment he heard the beat of horses’ hoofs from the direc- 
tion of the Tuileries. 

It was General Bonaparte and his staff inspecting 
the Rue Saint-Honore. 

As he passed, Caligula saluted him, shouting : 

“ Long live General Bonaparte !” 

But his voice was drowned by another calling still 
louder : 

“Long live General Bonaparte and long live the 
Convention !” 

The general turned his head, checked his horse, and 
addressing the man who had greeted him with this 
double exclamation, asked : 

“I am not mistaken! Your name is Pichoux?” 

“The husband of Madame Pichoux, of the Three 
Mile-Stones.” 

“Well, my friend, I have earned enough to-day to 
pay my debt to you.” 

“Your debt. General!” exclaimed Pichoux, “your 
debt ! Don’t mention it ! It is I who am your debtor ! 
I who was stupid enough to join the rebels.” 

“What, you?” 

“Yes, I did — In spite of my wife, who worships 
you. In spite of Caligula, who loves you. What can 
you expect? — one doesn’t know how to take politics now. 


180 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


But when I saw how the Republicans fought, when I 
saw you on your charger, braving the bullets as if you 
were invulnerable, admiration gained the upper hand. 
I sent king, princes, emigrants, nobles, and all the rest 
to the devil, and shouted under my breath what I now 
shout aloud: ‘Long live General Bonaparte! Long 
live the Convention!’ ” 

“ Tell your wife that I forgive you for her sake, you 
good-for-nothing fellow ! And don’t go back to them !” 

“ I ! Go back to them !” 

He was about to take a solemn oath, but the general 
galloped off. Then, in his rapture at having escaped 
the fighting and been pardoned, he fell into Caligula’s 
arms and burst into tears. 

Meanwhile night began to close in, greeted by hymns 
to liberty, repeated in chorus by the battalions, amid 
the clash of swords, the rumble of the gun-carriages, and 
the shrill notes of the trumpets. 


CHAPTER XI. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR. 

If the nomination of five Directors had, at least mo- 
mentarily, restored some degree of quietude to the 
minds of the people, though the Reactionists did not 
renounce their hope of revenge, public prosperity did 
not increase. In the great communes means of subsis- 
tence failed. Paper money complicated business trans- 
actions and increased the progress of depreciation. The 
new assignats inspired only a small degree of confidence. 
France seemed personified in the Directory, which at 
the time of its installation in the Luxembourg did not 
find a single piece of furniture there, and was obliged 
to borrow from the porter a rickety table, a sheet of 
letter-paper, and a bottle of ink to write the first message 
announcing its constitution to the two consuls. 

It was an excellent opportunity for a man of keenness 
and tact to set up as a money-lender and speculate in 
poverty. Samuel had long perceived it. So, after the 
defeat of the Quiberon expedition, he went to England 
whence, after having sold the White Heron and obtained 
payment for his loans, he returned to settle in France. 
Here he pursued the same object as in England : to 
oppress all who belonged to the nobility or served the 
royal cause. In Paris, as in London, this was his way 
of helping the Republic and avenging the long years of 
humiliation imposed upon his race. 

181 


182 THE EOMANCE OE THE SWORD. 

Samuel hired an apartment in the Rue de I’Egalite, 
which he furnished with some degree of comfort. In 
order to establish his position in the neighborhood, he 
began by subscribing to all the popular societies and 
all the charities which were democratic in character. 
Then he gave one hundred francs for poor patriots, 
with a letter published in several of the newspapers, in 
which he said : “ I desire to express in this way my 

love for the government which has elevated my race, 
and avenge my family for long years of persecution and 
trial.” By this course he would win the sympathy of 
the Convention, which we have already seen him use, 
and also that of the Directory. Samuel knew the human 
heart too well to suppose that such an attitude could 
injure him with his customers. “ Any nobleman who 
is compelled to apply to a Jew,” he thought, “is inca- 
pable of drawing back because the Jew is a Repub- 
lican.” 

The proof that he was correct was soon furnished by 
his first patron. Monsieur Charles, the conspirator of 
the Black Cross and the admirer of the Viscountess de 
Beauharnais. Monsieur Charles did not offer very 
satisfactory security, but, on the other hand, might be 
of some service. Samuel profited by his heedlessness 
cleverly enough to obtain two valuable pieces of inform- 
ation : the sword of Henri IV. was in the possession of 
General Bonaparte, who attached a superstitious value 
to it— Monsieur Charles had the tidings from Saint- 
Rejant— and this same General Bonaparte was in love 
with the fair Josephine. Samuel also learned through 
his customer the exact situation of the fortune of the 
hero of Toulon . From these facts he drew the inference 
that, spite of his regard for Count d’Availlac’s precious 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR. 


183 


gift, spite of the superstition connected with it, neces- 
sity would some day compel him to dispose of it. 

He reached this conviction when Monsieur Charles 
told him that General Bonaparte was not only in love 
with the Viscountess de Beauharnais, but also a suitor 
for her hand. Samuel knew that the lady had no prop- 
erty, was very extravagant, and consequently heavily 
in debt. If the marriage took place, the expenses of 
the wedding must be met, and they would be large. 
Where would the general find his resources, if not in 
the sword? 

The Jew determined to feel his way and, a week be- 
fore the 13th Vendemiaire, went to the Rue du Marais. 
He made no allusion to the real object of his visit, but 
attributed it to his desire to aid all who served the 
Republic, on whom fortune had not yet smiled, but 
who would ere long be masters of fate. 

General Bonaparte listened and, after gazing at him 
a few minutes with his piercing eyes, said : 

“My dear sir, from the time I was a second lieuten- 
ant, I have been familiar with poverty. When in 
garrison, I preferred to do my own cooking rather than 
run in debt for my board. In Paris I occupied a room 
in a house in the Rue du Mail, kept by a certain Mau- 
geard. This was in May, 1792. One Sunday, some 
comrades waked me and proposed an excursion to the 
neighborhood of Versailles. I examined my purse. I 
had scarcely a crown, and I owed one and a half to my 
laundress. I refused. Meanwhile Maugeard came in 
and, being a kind-hearted man, offered to loan me ten 
crowns. I refused again and spent my Sunday in 
reading Corneille. When I was at Fort Carre at An- 
tibes, arrested as a suspicious character, I contented 


184 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWOKD. 


myself with the ordinary prison fare, though I might 
have been served by an Italian woman who would 
gladly have given me credit with no other interest than 
a word of love. Yet the Italian was pretty, and her 
cooking was reported to be excellent. These are my 
habits, habits which nothing could change. So I can 
only thank you for your offers and wish you clients, I 
will not say more needy, but less fastidious.” 

Samuel was not discouraged. 

‘M understand the punctiliousness of Lieutenant 
Bonaparte. But the general ” 

“ Must feel the same, my wants not having changed.” 

“They may increase.” 

“ How?” 

“Can we ever tell? I suppose that you intend to 
marry some daj". However rich or disinterested your 
wife may be, you must make a wedding-present.” 

“ I will give my sword, sir. So much the worse for 
her who would not be satisfied with it. ” 

The last words were uttered in a tone which per- 
mitted no reply. Besides, the general had risen and 
partly opened the door to show his questioner that the 
conversation had already lasted too long. 

Samuel went down the stairs convinced of the futility 
of persistence. But he was too familiar with men and 
events to despair. He merely waited, patience being 
one of the characteristics of his race. 

Meanwhile, the events upon which he relied soon 
turned against him. 

After the day of Vendemiaire General Bonaparte’s 
position changed. 

The command of the Army of the Interior was en- 
trusted to him. He occupied the headquarters in the 


DEBTOR AKD creditor. 


18o 


Rue des Capucines. Duvigneau was his chief of staff ; 
his aids were Junot, Lemarois, Marmont, and his young 
brother, Louis. While awaiting the arrival of his uncle 
Fesch he had taken a secretary, Fain. He went out only 
in a magnificent carriage. He gave offices. Joseph had 
already submitted to the consequences of his new for- 
tune; Lucien was commissary of war in the Army of 
the Rhine; Madame Mere and her daughters received 
subsidy after subsidy — 60,000 francs in money, as- 
signats, and dresses; Jerome was at college; Ramolino 
was commissary; Ornano, lieutenant of the Legion of 
Police. He dined at Reveillere-Lepeaux’s. He could 
play at Barras’ house whist, faro, bouillotte, even a 
game of dice. Viscountess de Beauharnais wrote him 
notes worded as follows : 

“You no longer come to see a friend who loves you. 

“You have completely deserted her; you are wrong, 
for she is tenderly attached to you. 

“Come to-morrow, Septidi, to breakfast with me; I 
want to see and talk with you about your interests. 

“ Good-evening, my friend, I embrace you. 

“Widow Beauharnais.” 

Certainly it was no use to work upon the general. 
The reports concerning the latter’s approaching mar- 
riage with the Viscountess de Beauharnais becoming 
more and more credited, Samuel changed his plans 
and tried the Rue Chantereine. The Viscountess found 
herself in a position of increasing difficulty, just at the 
moment when it was necessary to conceal her embar- 
rassments and multiply her attractions. He would call 
on her. Making her his debtor would secure her future 
husband. Why should not the sword of Henri IV. 
serve to pay the pretty Creole’s debts? 


186 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Samuel obtained an introduction to the Rue Chan- 
tereine through Monsieur Charles, who, seeing the turn 
affairs were taking, had also transformed his plans. 
Since she is determined to have her general, he said to 
himself, let her marry him. Instead of being the lover 
of Viscountess de Beauharnais, I will be Madame 
Bonaparte’s. 

Samuel perceived the situation at a glance. 

He detected the desire for display and the impossibil- 
ity of doing better, perceived the shams and cheap 
finery. The furniture reminded him of the toilets of 
certain coquettes, beneath whose satin there is no linen. 

He came at an opportune time. The Viscountess’ 
creditors had appeared the evening before, demanding 
their money with sufficient authority to show that they 
were losing patience. She had vainly made every 
effort to appease them, assuring them that, as soon as 
Martinique was free from the English, she would re- 
ceive funds; pleading her position as a widow with 
two children to rear. The creditors were merciless. 

Samuel appeared like a deliverer. She thanked Mon- 
sieur Charles with a smile that was full of promise and 
signed for Samuel everything he wished her to sign. 
In a few days she was completely in his power. 

“How,” he said to himself, “General Bonaparte can 
marry. We’ll see whether the wife’s debts do not 
weigh heavier than the husband’s sword.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


AT THE HOME OF BARRAS. 

From the 13th Vendemiaire Paris was athirst for 
gayety. Men and women, under the pretence of follow- 
ing the fashion, disguised themselves. 

The men wore bottle-green coats with mother-of-pearl 
buttons, made by the great Heyl, coats from which their 
heads protruded, as if they came out of a spy-glass, be- 
tween the collar and the hat, whose edges were turned up 
by Poupart in gondola fashion. Their cravats were 
huge ones with rust-colored specks, called Laignardier 
ties. Their trousers were ordered from Sarrazin. 
Their stockings were in corkscrew design, or else white 
with broad blue stripes. Their feet were covered with 
low, pointed half-boots, made by Lasserre, delicate 
pumps, or boots a la Leuturaud. They leaned on big 
gnarled sticks, which they called their “executive 
power,” and looked through quizzing-glasses. 

The women disguised themselves with wigs a tire- 
bourres, crochets sur V oeil, a Vanglaise, afilasse d^en- 
fant ; in dresses cut after the antique style by Esper- 
cieux or Petit-Coupray, robes a la Flora, a la Diana, a 
la Ceres, a la Minerva, a la Galatea, a la Vestal, a la 
“dawn of day.” 

Thus bedecked, men and women went to the Feydeau, 
the Odeon, the Opera-Comique, the Vaudeville, the 
Theatre d ’Emulation, or the Ambigu-Comique. In 
187 


188 


THE ROMANCE OP THE SWORD. 


the summer, there were gardens. Not the Palais- 
Royal, the resort of sharpers ; not- the Tuileries, on ac- 
count of new orders given to the sentinels; but the 
Colysee in the ground of the Sablons, Vauxhall, Rane- 
lagh, the Gymnase in the Bois de Boulogne, the 
Amathontes, the Tivoli, 374 Rue Saint- Lazare ; Idalie. 
There was constant singing and dancing. People 
danced everywhere — in the Rue des Filles Saint- 
Thomas, in the Maison de la Modestie, at Citizen 
Failly’s; at the Musee in the Rue de Thionville, 
formerly the Rue Dauphine. There was dancing in 
the Rue de la Loi, at Travers’ ; at the Bal de Calypso ; 
at MaloiseTs in the Faubourg Montmartre; at the 
Hotel de la Chine, in the Rue Neuve des Petit-Champs; 
at Jacquet’s, at Maudet’s, at Loiseaii’s, at MaruichaTs, 
in the Quai de la Vallee; at the Jesuits’ College, at 
the Convent of the Carmelites, at the Seminary of 
Saint-Sulpice, at the Filles de Sainte-Marie; in the Rue 
de Vaugiraud, in the house of the ex-Carmes-Dechaux — 

Zigue, zague, dondon, 

Un pas de rigaudon ! 

There was dancing at the Hotel d’Aligre, at the 
Hotel Biron, at the Lycee des Bibliophiles, at the house 
called the Tuileries in the Rue Saint-Honore, at the 
Hotel Longueville 

There was dancing at Barras’, especially at Barras’, 
who was at once soldier, politician, go-between, and 
spy. Barras loved women, flowers, music, and lights. 
He had introduced a new costume for receiving: a 
coat cut in mediaeval fashion, a red cloak embroidered 
in arabesque design, a hat turned up on one side in the 
style of Henri IV. with an exaggerated quantity of 


AT THE HOME OF BARRAS. 


189 


plumes. He moved hither and thither, bowed, and 
conversed, dragging after him a huge silver-gilt sword, 
giving here a word to Madame Tallien, his inseparable 
friend ; yonder one to Monsieur de Talleyrand ; to David, 
who had designed Madame de Chateau-Regnault’s 
costume ; to Madame la Marquise de Musquitz, ambas- 
sadress from Spain ; a brief discussion of painting with 
Gerard; a smile for Mademoiselle de Saint-Fargeau, 
otherwise Madame de Witt, for she had married the 
son of the Grand Pensioner ; a bit of advice to Monsieur 
de Lamothe, who is playing bouillotte with General 
Schawembourg ; a word of counsel to Sollin who, a lover 
of all-fours, was pitted against Lefranc. 

The Viscountess de Beauharnais, apart from the 
throng, was talking with General Bonaparte. She 
looked prettier than ever with her fair hair curled 
around her head in the classic fashion, her simple 
muslin dress falling about her in ample folds, and 
her cachemire shawl, whose vivid crimson set off the 
dazzling fairness of her arms and shoulders. 

The general was fairly transformed. He wore a new 
costume striking in its plainness, and irreproachable 
boots, which had been the subject of frequent comment 
since his entrance. They recalled those worn on the 
occasion of his first visit to Madame Tallien. 

At first the conversation had been trivial, as though 
both feared to revert to the cause which united them. 
The general had informed his companion of his new 
position, omitting no detail. She listened, seeing in 
each confidence a proof of trust and friendship, and 
encouraging him by a smile, a coquettish glance. 

At last he asked the great question : “ Do you love 

me?” 


190 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“If I answered in the way you desire, you would 
have to forget that I am a widow with two children.” 

“ I will forget that you are a widow, and yet I will 
rear your children.” 

“ Then I love you and will be your wife whenever 
you wish.” 

General Bonaparte was as radiant as if he had won 
a victory. Was it not the fairest of all his conquests? 
Rising, he offered the viscountess his arm and returned 
to the drawing-room beaming with happiness. 

Barras and Madame Tallien guessed what had oc- 
curred by the expression of his face and, without asking 
a single question, congratulated both. 

The clock struck twelve. General Bonaparte placed 
the viscountess in Monsieur de Talleyrand’s charge, 
slipped out of the house, sprang into a carriage and was 
driven to the Rue des Capucines. 

“ Is the man here?” he asked a servant. 

“ In your office.” 

The man was Cuvillier, known throughout France. 
He had been jeweller to Louis XVI., and continued his 
dealings with the aristocracy. 

“ Citizen Cuvillier, the matter in question is this. I 
have a sword whose hilt is ornamented with a valuable 
diamond. Can you take it out in my presence?” 

“ You requested me to bring what I needed to remove 
it from the setting.” 

“ Wait a moment.” 

He went to a locked closet and drew out Count 
d’Availlac’s sword. 

“ Be quick.” 

“ It is a superb weapon, ” 

“And the diamond?” 


AT THE HOME OF BARRAS. 


191 


“A very valuable one.” 

“Isn’t it?” 

“Worthy to sparkle in a monarch’s crown.” 

“ So much the better. I wish it to adorn the brow of 
a queen.” 

And, while the jeweller was trying to remove the 
gem as carefully as possible, he added : “ Citizen 

Cuvillier, I sent for you at an unusual hour for a reason 
I am about to confide to you: I wished to have the 
work done under my own eyes, and with the utmost 
secrecy. Now, all day long, I have a thousand and one 
duties to perform which makes my office a public place. 
Gently, I beg of you! With that sword, I will cut 
through the Alps, as Roland did the Pyrenees. The 
blade is slender, almost fragile, better suited for the 
drawing-room than the battle-field! — Is the diamond 
coming? Gently! gently! Not the least scratch. You 
hold a talisman in your hands. Yes, a real talisman, 
and ” 

He paused . 

The diamond was out of the hilt. The jeweller laid 
it on the table, where it glittered brilliantly. 

General Bonaparte took it up. 

“ Hardened sunlight ! Oh, Cuvillier ! To think that 
I have endured hunger and cold while possessing that 
gem. I looked at it in secret and warmed myself by 
its rays. I was waiting for a great occasion. It has 
come.” 

He controlled his overflowing heart, and did not 
finish the sentence. 

“ What shall I put in the place of the diamond?” 

“ I have provided for everything. Do you see this bul- 
let? I picked it up the first time I was under fire. That 


192 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


was ill Corsica. Put it into the empty setting and press 
down the gold claws which held the stone. It is a 
memento, and besides the sword will be easier to handle. 
That’s right, thank you.” 

“And the diamond?” 

“Take it with you and make it the principal jewel in 
a pearl necklace which 1 will select at your establish- 
ment. Farewell, Cuvillier! Above all, do not lose it! 
You would be responsible for a whole destiny.” 

The jeweller disappeared ; the general again entered 
his carriage and returned to the Barras reception. The 
viscountess questioned him anxiously. He alleged 
that he was obliged to issue some orders, drew her into 
a little empty room and covered her hands with kisses. 

At that moment, the entertainment was at the height 
of its splendor, and he was already forgotten in the 
great news of the benefit of the Opera troupe, which had 
had the clever idea of resuscitating for the young Re- 
public the dances and couplets of a Court ballet. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


IN WHICH GENERAL BONAPARTE MAKES MADAME 
PICHOUX WEEP. 

It was nine o’clock in the morning when the officer 
on duty at General Bonaparte’s quarters handed him a 
letter. 

Opening it, he glanced at the contents and said : 

“ Show ■ Madame Pichoux in at once, and in future 
remember that I am always ready to receive her.” 

Madame Pichoux entered, wondering at the difference 
between the little suite of rooms in the Rue des Marais 
and this mansion in the Rue des Capucines. She was 
too much interested in her former customer not to have 
followed the news concerning him. She was aware of 
his appointment, his removal, she knew that he had a 
carriage, but she had never imagined that the change 
was so sudden and the progress so obvious. She en- 
tered, but in a manner very unlike her usual one. 
Instead of being merry, putting her arms akimbo, and 
tucking up her petticoat, she was serious, and remained 
motionless with downcast eyes and arms hanging by 
her side. 

“ Well, my dear Madame Pichoux, to what do I owe 
the pleasure of your visit?” 

“ General ” 

“Oh! that is a tone you have never used to me; it 
would make me regret the days when you trusted me 
13 193 


194 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


SO generously. That time isn’t so far off, either, that 
we need stand on ceremony with each other. Do I still 
owe you anything?” 

“No, Citizen General. Your aide. Citizen Junot, 
settled with me the day of your appointment.” 

“ I am not quits with you on that account, Madame 
Pichoux. I shall retain an eternal sense of gratitude 
for your minute attentions, your kindness, and your 
advances. Yes, eternal, no matter how far or how 
high I may go. Ingratitude, Madame Pichoux, is an 
ugly fault, which reveals the mind of a fool and the 
heart of a wicked man. Now I pride myself on being 
neither. By the way, what of Citizen Pichoux? He 
has positively joined us. He made his profession of 
faith to me under arms. Who would have believed 
that he conspired? If I had known it sooner, I would 
have punished him in my own way.” 

“How, Citizen General?” 

“Come here and I’ll tell you.” 

Madame Pichoux went forward a few steps. 

“ Nearer.” 

Then, taking her hands, he added : “ Madame 
Pichoux, you are prettier than ever. Well, if I had 
known your husband’s opinions, I would have punished 
him by running off with his wife.” 

Madame Pichoux turned as red as a peony. 

“Unless,” he added, “his wife wouldn’t have con- 
sented?” 

The pretty mistress of the Three Mile-Stones sighed 
and looked at her questioner in a way which left him in 
no uncertainty on that point. • 

General Bonaparte could not help smiling. 

“I didn’t say anything. Citizen General.” 


BOIfAPARTE MAKES MADAME PICHOUX WEEP. 195 

“I guessed enough. So then — evidently, I’ve been 
far too stupid. Don’t bear me a grudge for it, Madame 
Pichoux. Or rather congratulate yourself. I should 
have made a sorry lover, having two serious defects: 
poverty and ambition.” 

“But,” sighed Madame Pichoux a second time, “it is 
too late.” 

“ Why?” 

“Aren’t you going to he married?” 

“ Do you know that?” 

“ Like the rest of the world.” 

“ So Paris is talking about it?” 

“ It talks of nothing else. ” 

“And what is said about my future wife?” 

“People say that she is as pretty as she is good.” 

“ They are right, Madame Pichoux. She has every 
desirable quality. She is amiable, witty ” 

“Citizen General,” interrupted Madame Pichoux, “I 
didn’t come to hear you say ” 

“Pardon me! You see how awkward I am with 
women. Let us go back to my first question. To what 
do I owe the pleasure of seeing you?” 

“ Why, it’s this. Citizen General. I know an excel- 
lent young girl named Charlotte, whose father is a brutal 
drunkard who renders her life miserable ” 

“Let her get married. I’ll make her a canteen 
woman. ” 

“Married, — that would realize her brightest dream. 
She loves a young man, who loves her. Unfortunately, 
he is as friendless and as poor as she.” 

“ Let him turn soldier ! It is the best calling for a 
needy man. Let him gain his commission and then 
marry.” 


196 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“ That’s just his own idea. The young girl intro- 
duced him to me the other day, and I promised to ask 
for an audience.” 

“An audience with me? Ah, Madame Pichoux, 
did I ask you for audiences when, not having enough 
to entertain my friends, I came to entreat you to act as 
my major-domo and keep the bill until better days? I 
have just given orders to have the doors thrown wide 
open, whenever you appear here. Don’t compel me to 
repeat it every time you come, or it will be you whom 
I ought to tax with ingratitude. Where is your 
protege?” 

“ He’s waiting for me in the anteroom.” 

“Go and bring him in.” 

Madame Pichoux would have overflowed with grati- 
tude, if she had not cherished a little resentment. 

Since he had never paid court to her, what had induced 
him to make so tardy a confession of love? 

She opened the door and said, just as if she was again 
standing on the landing in the Rue du Marais : 

“You can come in. Monsieur Robert.” 

The little touch of familiarity put the general in an 
excellent humor. 

Standing before Robert, he pinched his ear, asking : 
“ So you want to be a soldier?” 

“Yes, General. And I should like to serve under 
jmur orders.” 

“ Why under my orders?” 

“Because I admire you.” 

“That is a verb I haven’t yet justified.” 

“Oh, 5^es, General! I’ve read everything that hap- 
pened at Toulon, and I have watched Venderniaire,” 

“So you read?” 


BONAPARTE MAKES MADAME PICHOUX WEEP. 197 


“A great deal.” 

“ I thought that among the people ” 

“ I don’t belong to the people.” 

“ What is your name?” 

The youth paused in embarrassment. 

“My name is Robert.” 

“ Robert what?” 

“Just Robert.” 

“ Who is your father?” 

“I am an orphan.” 

“ Then where is your nobility?” 

“ In my heart.” 

“So much the better! The Republic needs such 
nobles.” 

“ I do not love the Republic.” 

“ Indeed? Yet you wish to serve it?” 

“No! I wish to serve my country, like you.” 

“Who tells you that I am a patriot rather than a 
Republican?” 

“ The day that I first saw you, I felt that you were 
too superior to the people to spring from them. The 
common people have the eyes of a domestic animal. 
Your glance is like the eagle’s. Now, whoever is not 
born of them will never love them. He will defend 
them from motives of humanity or policy, as the noble 
of yore mounted ‘his horse to defend his vassals; but 
his duty fulfilled or his interest protected, he returns to 
his former distance. On the other hand, I have seen 
you, amid your soldiers, sheltered under the fiags, with 
your face aglow with patriotism, and I have longed to 
shout: ^Ave CcesarT^' 

General Bonaparte had again become serious. 

“You have indeed read much. I pardon these 


198 


THE ROMAKCE OF THE SWORD. 


thoughts because you are almost a child, but they would 
compromise you in the regiment, my lad. Henceforth 
you will do me the favor to keep them to yourself. In 
which branch do you desire to serve?” 

“ In the one where there is most danger.” 

“Do you wish to die then?” 

“ Either to die or to rise.” 

“That’s the way I prefer to hear you talk. You’ll 
make an excellent grenadier. Stop. Go to the recruit- 
ing office with the note I will give you.” 

General Bonaparte sat down at a table and began to 
write. 

Robert remained standing before him, happy and 
already proud. 

Madame Pichoux had regained her former confidence 
and, yielding to her irresistible curiosity, was examin- 
ing the room, inspecting the pictures, touching the 
various objects, turning over the books. For an instant 
she devoured with her eyes a pile of military orders, 
proclamations, and letters. Then she was on the point 
of putting her pretty little hand upon -them ; the gen- 
eral, who had been watching her several minutes with 
amusement, stopped her by a significant cough. 
Madame Pichoux turned quickly ,_as red as she had been 
a few minutes before when he had spoken of carrying 
her off. 

“ Soldier Robert, here is the letter. Thank Madame 
Pichoux, embrace your betrothed bride, and join your 
corps. ” 

Then, as Madame Pichoux was preparing to take 
leave, he added : 

“Ho, stay. I have something more to say to you.” 

Robert held out his hand to Madame Pichoux, who 


BONAPAKTE MAKES MADAME PICHOUX WEEP. 199 

took it without knowing Avhat she was doing. She 
was completely absorbed in wondering why she was 
detained. What could the general want? 

She looked at herself in the mirror over the mantel- 
piece, smoothed her hair and eyebrows, smiled to show 
her teeth, adjusted her waist, and straightened the folds 
of her skirts. 

Wow that he was going to be married, she would 
have the strength to resist him, not being a woman to 
fill an interim. 

Would she? 

A doubt arose when the general, who had been 
watching her proceedings for several minutes, asked : 

“How is business?” 

The mistress of the Three Mile- Stones might have 
leaped from the towers of Notre-Dame without falling 
so far. 

“Business?” she repeated, literally bewildered. 
“ Business? What do you mean?” 

“ I asked you how business was?” 

“ What business?” 

“The trade of the Three Mile-Stones.” 

“Oh! that — Why, not bad. General, thank you.” 

“What does your restaurant bring you in a year?” 

“Dear me,” answered Madame Pichoux, who had by 
no means recovered from the shock of having her illu- 
sions destroyed, enough to live on, and to save a few 
pennies too.” 

“It seems that I wasn’t your best customer. Oh! 
don’t deny it! My opinion is made up on that 
point. Finally, without any more circumlocution, 
would you consent to enter my service with your 
husband?” 


200 THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 

“Your service? But, General, what service? The 
chances are that you won’t stay long in Paris. The 
war may claim you to-morrow. And then? Unless 
you would like to have me cook in the presence of the 
Austrians- ” 

“ In my absence, you will serve my wife.” 

“ Madame Bonaparte !” 

“ Why not?” 

“But — ” stammered Madame Pichoux, rebelling 
against a proposal which, especially after his recent 
confession, bordered on cruelty. 

“ But what?” 

“ Pichoux and I haven’t worked hard since we were 
fifteen years old to settle down at last under somebody 
else’s roof, even though the somebody else should be 
called Madame Bonaparte.” 

She no longer trembled now ; she felt both angry and 
resentful. 

“My dear Madame Pichoux, I didn’t intend to vex 
you!” 

“ You haven’t vexed me, you have ” 

Hiding her face in her handkerchi 63 f, she murmured 
with a sob : 

“These soldiers! They haven’t any hearts!” 

The general no sooner perceived the blunder of his 
proposal than he regretted it. That was his way with 
women ! Either timid or brutal. He lacked tact. It 
was due to his habit of curtness or abrupt command. 
He had noticed it more than once. He was sorry for 
Madame Pichoux, an excellent woman, to whom he 
was warmly attached. Approaching her, he said in a 
softened tone: 

“ I beg your pardon. Will you embrace me?” 


BOKAPAKTE MAKES MADAME PICHOUX WEEP. 201 

She wiped her eyes and, throwing her arms around 
his neck, exclaimed : 

“ What a man you are ! One can’t bear you a grudge 
even when you are detestable.” 

And, after giving him two hearty kisses full on the 
mouth, she was wondering how to retire, when the 
officer who had admitted her announced the arrival of 
a military deputation. 

Madame Pichoux uttered a last sigh, made a low 
curtsey, and glided through the midst of the uniforms 
and swords which crowded the anteroom. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE SACRIFICE. 

The 13th Vendemiaire had been more brilliant than 
conclusive. 

The defeat of the sections, instead of crushing the 
Royalist party, had. merely served to inspire it with a 
desire for vengeance ; so it raised its head higher than 
ever. Paris was crowded with intrigues, daily foment- 
ing a conspiracy. Another landing of emigrants was 
rumored : those who had escaped from the disaster of 
Quiberon and taken refuge in the island of Onat. Pui- 
saye, who had returned to Brittany, was preparing a 
renewal of hostilities. Charette had just been appointed 
commander-in-chief of the Catholic countries. The 
English occupied the coast of Morbihan. 

While the Reaction was working and threatening, 
discussions arose daily among the patriots. The nom- 
inations of the five Directors, Barras, Rewbell, Lare- 
velliere-Lepeaux, Letourneur, and Carnot had given 
but partial satisfaction. They distrusted Barras, and 
the others, except Carnot, were not popular. 

Finally, a spirit of dull discontent pervaded the 
army. This had originated in the exclusion of soldiers 
from the Directory, which awakened suspicion. The 
dissatisfaction daily increased and assumed more defi- 
nite form. One man alone perceived it, and suffered 
both as soldier and patriot : General Bonaparte. 

202 


THE SACRIFICE. 


203 


At the announcement of a military deputation he had 
suspected fresh complaints. He felt that the army — at 
least that of Paris — was seeking to place him in the 
position of leader of the malcontents, and had re- 
solved to refuse a part which, even in the period of his 
disgrace, would have seemed odious. General Bona- 
parte saw but one object to pursue : victory over the 
Royalists and, above all, the foreign foe. This object 
could be attained only by having all the soldiers march 
united in serried ranks, as if they were melted and 
forged together. 

When the deputation was introduced, the general 
asked to what regiments the officers belonged. 

“ I thought you were on the banks of the Rhine !” 

“We came to Paris as an escort to our general, 
Pichegru,” replied a colonel. 

“Is Pichegru here?” 

“ He came twenty-four hours ago.” 

“For what purpose?” 

“ To keep in touch with the new government.” 

“And did he send you?” 

“No, General, we came on our own account.” 

“ That’s against all discipline.” 

“ We know it.” 

“What is your name?” 

“ Esquinard.” 

“You fought in America?” 

“Yes, General, after having aided in the treaty of 
Vienna. I was at Saint-Lucia, Senegal, Pondicherry. 
At Valmy I received two bullets. At Fleurus, an 
Austrian sword-stroke cut my face under the eyes of 
General Jourdan. These officers have been my com- 
panions in misfortune and glory. They are still my 


204 


THE RO^IANCE OE THE SWORD. 


comrades. If these are titles to your attention, I will 
speak. ” 

‘‘ Then speak.” 

“ General, the army of Sambre-et- Meuse is in danger.” 

“ I have watched the operations and know the condi- 
tion of affairs. The plan was to cross the Rhine at two 
points and occupy the right bank with two armies. 
Jour dan, who started from Dusseldorf, after crossing 
the river, found himself on the Lahn, crowded between 
the Prussian lines and the Rhine. Everything could 
be saved if Pichegru joined him. Instead of crossing 
with the greater part of his force, he only transferred a 
very insufficient body of troops to the other shore. 
These are imprudences which are to be redeemed. 
Pichegru is at the head of brave soldiers, to whom he 
w ill soon afford an opportunity for vengeance. ” 

“ On condition that these brave soldiers retain their 
confidence in him.” 

“It could not be otherwise.” 

“ General, confidence cannot be commanded. There 
are rumors in circulation about our leader.” 

“ What are they?” 

“ Slanders, none of us doubt that. But calumny, on 
such an occasion, brings not only lack of faith, but 
causes distress, discouragement, and want of discipline.” 

“We have court martials.” 

“Terrible as they might be, examples would only 
serve to increase indignation.” 

“But tell me these slanders.” 

“It is whispered that in 1793 he would have offered 
his services to the emigrants of Coblentz.” 

“ That is a falsehood.” 

“ It is said that he is not a Republican.” 


THE SACRIFICE. 


205 


“ He has won victories for the Republic.” 

“ Finally, the most evil-minded go so far as to assert 
that he is in communication with the Prince de Conde.” 

“That is an infamous thing. Do you wish me to 
repeat Pichegru’s early life? He springs from the 
people, like most of us. His father was a vinedresser. 
He has known poverty, and the contempt which accom- 
panies it. He began as an artilleryman. One day at 
Auxonne, as the two gunners in front were loading a 
cannon, it went off prematurely, tearing away an arm 
from each man. The general reproved the marker, 
whom he accused of not having stopped the chamber 
with his finger. The man, who still stood in the atti- 
tude of attention, submitted to the rebuke, but when ,it 
was over he raised his hand and said to the general : ‘ I 
beg your pardon. I did my duty. Here is the proof.’ 
The forefinger of his right hand hung broken. The 
gunner’s name was Pichegru. The soldier’s character 
appeared afterward in the general. Pichegru has been 
one of the heroes of the North. He won victories at 
Cassel, Courtrai, Menin, Bois-le-Duc, Vanloo, Nime- 
guen, Amsterdam, Mannheim. Are these the antece- 
dents of a traitor?” 

“You forget. General, that we know all this, and our 
coming to you was less to make ourselves propagators 
of a slander than to entreat you to put a stop to it, in 
order to restore to the army of Sambre-et-Meuse the 
confidence without which it could not conquer.” 

“ What ability have I to do that? Go to Barras.” 

“The support of Director Barras would be insuffi- 
cient. He has the reputation of a rake.” 

“Rewbell.” 

“ A collector of papers. ” 


206 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWOED. 


“ Letourneur. ” 

“A dreamer.” 

“ Lareveillere-Lepeaux.” 

“A coward.” 

“ Carnot.” 

“A politician.” 

“ Aubert-Dubrayet is Minister of War.” 

“ He is too vacillating. What we need is to have 
General Pichegru sustained by a man like you.” 

“ I have gained fewer victories.” 

“But you have more popularity and more prestige.” 

“ Already !” thought General Bonaparte, and re- 
mained with his eyes fixed on vacancy as if lost in 
thought. 

So this popularity, of which he was aware, was gen- 
uine? His prestige too? Was it true that, in the lives 
of some men, every event, the simplest as well as the 
most important, was an increase to their celebrity and 
glory? He was asked to become surety for a renowned 
general — by a word, a single word, to give confidence to 
an entire army; and at the same time public opinion 
expressed his superiority to a commander-in-chief, a 
minister of war, and five directors — that is, a complete 
government. 

He measured himself by others, and found that he 
was great. 

Yet how could he utter this word without encroaching 
upon governmental, ministerial, or military rights? 

How could he inspire a whole army with his own 
spirit without exciting jealousy, being suspected of 
ambition — above all, without violating discipline, that 
sister of victory? 

His eyes suddenly sparkled with the light of a sudden 


THE SACRIFICE. 


207 


inspiration. True, it would require an enormous sacri- 
fice; he would rather have given his own flesh and 
blood. But the interest at stake was the army, the 
flag, the country ! 

“Gentlemen, I thank you for your visit. It must 
remain forever secret. Before your departure, I promise 
to make your comrades and your men retract their un- 
just suspicions.” 

They withdrew, leaving him alone, and he gazed 
intently at the sky, in which the first star was shining. 


CHAPTER XV. 


WHAT JOSEPHINE BONAPARTE DID NOT EXPECT TO 
FIND IN THE BASKET CONTAINING HER WEDDING 
GIFTS. 

On the 9th of March, 1796, Monsieur Leclercq, a 
magistrate of the second ward, was waiting in his office 
for General Bonaparte and Viscountess de Beauharnais, 
whose civil marriage he was to register. 

It was half-past nine o’clock in the evening. 

Monsieur Leclercq stood at the window, watching for 
the arrival of the bride and groom, when Monsieur 
Raguideau, a notary, rushed in. 

Monsieur Leclercq turned abruptly : 

“ What is it. Monsieur Raguideau?” 

“ I’ve something to tell you.” 

“ Do you know that I am expecting ” 

“I know. They won’t be here before ten o’clock. I 
have the start of them. Citizen Leclercq, notary though 
I have the right to call myself, I’m a fool.” 

“Explain yourself. Monsieur Raguideau.” 

“You know, or rather you don’t know, that for some 
time I have been the lawyer of the bride. Mademoiselle 
Tascher de la Pagerie, widow Beauharnais.” 

“ I didn’t know it.” 

“ Then I inform you now. The very day her mar- 
riage with General Bonaparte was definitely settled, 
she came to tell me of it.” 

^08 


JOSEPHINE AND HEK WEDDING GIFTS. 


209 


“ Wasn’t it rather late to ask your advice, Monsieur 
Raguideau?” 

“ I was completely nonplussed, Citizen Leclercq, so 
nonplussed that I could not help making a few remarks 
to her on the subject of a match which I disapproved. 
Then, as she opposed me, fairly driven to extremities, 
I exclaimed: ‘What, marry a general who has nothing 
but his cloak and his sword ! A little nameless gene- 
ral, with no prospects for the future! Inferior to all 
the Republican commanders ! I would rather see you 
a contractor’s wife. ’ ” 

“ What was her reply?” 

“ She didn’t reply at all. I had scarcely finished when 
the general, who was waiting in the antechamber and 
apparently listening at the door, rushed in, pulled my 
ears terribly and, dropping into an armchair, burst into 
shouts of laughter.” 

“ He took it very pleasantly.” 

“Who knows? Our Bonaparte is a Corsican, and it 
seems that the Corsicans will dispatch a man for you 
in the midst of a fit of laughter. Caught in the very 
act, I hung my head, abashed and silent, when Madame 
de Beauharnais said: ‘Monsieur Raguideau, 1 shall 
impose a penance upon you for your remarks.’ ‘What 
penance?’ ‘In your marriage contract you must make 
me four years younger and the general a year older. 
That will be a compensation. ’ How could I refuse after 
such an indiscretion? So I am under the obligation of 
begging you to make the same changes in your records, 
that we may agree. It is incorrect, I know, but just 
now it is indispensable.” 

Monsieur Leclercq wrote the information, and 
Raguideau went away. 

14 


210 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Monsieur Leclercq went back to the window, waited 
ten minutes, returned to his armchair, tried to read a 
newspaper, shut his eyes, and fell asleep. 

Whatever might have been the expression of Notary 
Kaguideau’s face the day that General Bonaparte pulled 
his ears, there is every reason to believe that it was 
not more comical than Monsieur Leclercq’s when, 
having waked, he saw General Bonaparte, Viscountess 
de Beauharnais, and their four witnesses seated in front 
of him. 

He sprang up as if moved by a spring and, amid the 
laughter of the whole party, began : 

“This day, in the year 1796 ” 

Then, addressing the witnesses: “Be kind enough 
to sign, if you please.” 

They wrote their signatures: Barras, Tallien, Le 
Marois, General Bonaparte’s aide, Calmelet, law- 
yer. 

After the names were recorded in the books, the 
general thanked Monsieur Leclercq, apologizing for 
having kept him up so late. 

Two carriages conveyed the wedded pair and their 
witnesses to the Rue Chantereine, where the rooms 
occupied by Madame de Beauharnais in her widowhood 
were blazing with lights. 

The apartments, transformed for the occasion into 
drawing-rooms, were already thronged with guests, 
among whom, besides the witnesses, were Madame 
Tallien and the frequenters of “The Cottage,” the gen- 
erals stationed in Paris and its vicinity, Junot and his 
family, Bourrienne, Monsieur Patrault, and finally 
Pichegru and his escort. 

At midnight General Bonaparte entered with his wife 


JOSEPHINE AND HER WEDDING DIETS. 2ii 

on his arm. He wore his full-dress uniform, and 
Madame Bonaparte’s beauty was fairly radiant. 

The general had a word for every one. He pressed 
Madame Tallien’s hand as was due a woman to whom 
he owed his happiness. He embraced Junot, the friend 
of his days of privation, and Monsieur Patrault, whom 
he presented to his bride. 

A servant came up. 

“ General, inquisitive spectators have filled the 
garden and are trying to peep through the win- 
dows.” 

“ Let them alone ! Give them something to eat and, 
above all, something to drink.” 

At that moment Junot, obeying an order from the 
general, went to get a basket, which he placed on the 
round table. 

The general led his wife to it and, amid the silence 
which fell upon the company, said in an agitated 
tone : 

“ My dear wife, I would gladly have conquered for 
you the treasures of Golcouda. The Republic gave me 
no time to do so. I offer in their place this necklace, 
whose principal gem possesses for me a value which I 
will tell you some day. Wear it as if I hung on your 
neck the star in which I trust.” 

“ Ah !” replied Madame Bonaparte, in astonishment, 
“ it is fit for a queen !” 

“ The prediction is beginning to be fulfilled !” cried 
the general, who had not forgotten the Martinique 
negress. 

The guests were hastening forward to admire the 
necklace, which he wanted to fasten himself, when 
Barras, addressing Madame Bonaparte, said: 


212 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“Madame, that is not the last surprise which the 
basket contains. Look into it yourself. You will find 
my wedding gift.” 

Josephine rushed to it, seized a paper, opened, read 
it, and handing it to her husband, cried joyously, using 
for the first time the familiar thou : “ Read in thy turn, 

Napoleon !” 

General Bonaparte smiled, he was triumphant. A 
long-cherished dream had been accomplished. It was 
the acceptance of his plan for the invasion of Piedmont : 
it was the proclamation of his military genius by the 
nation. 

General Bonaparte was appointed .commander-in- 
chief of the Army of Italy. 

In the midst of the congratulations and applause, he 
remembered a sacrifice to be made and a duty to be ful- 
filled, a sacrifice and a duty more imperatively de- 
manded than ever in this hour, when he held the 
destiny of the country in his grasp, for he believed 
that this fifth campaign for liberty would definitely 
secure the supremacy of the French arms in Europe. 

Then, requesting silence, he drew the sword of Henri 
IV., which he had made a point of wearing for the pur- 
pose, and, turning to Pichegru, said: 

“Pichegru, we will keep the Coalition between our 
lines and, when it is crowded together, we will move 
near enough to each other to stifle it. Take this sword. 
It is a talisman which I entrust to you as the most 
worthy of my companions in arms. I do not give, I 
lend it to you. I will receive it back over the heads of 
the vanquished foe.” 

Then, turning to Colonel d’Esquinard, he whis- 
pered : 


JOSEPHINE AND HER WEDDING GIFTS. 


213 


“ Colonel, when you rejoin your regiment, take care 
to relate to your men what you have seen.” 

A few minutes later General-in-chief Bonaparte dis- 
appeared with his wife. 

While passing one of the windows of the drawing- 
room, he did not see Samuel, who, standing in the 
crowd, was gazing at the jewel Madame Bonaparte 
wore on her neck; but he thought he recognized 
Madame Pichoux, whose large eyes were dim with 
tears. 


PART SECOND. 

TREASON. 


CHAPTER I. 

STORY OF AN ACT OF TREASON. 

The army of Conde had just returned to their canton- 
ments in the Brisgau. 

The headquarters were established at Riegel. 

There was a total lack of the charms of the camp at 
Steinstadt adorned with cottages and little gardens, 
which presented so charming a picture of rural and 
military life that it inspired Monsieur de Pelleport 
with the following poor verse : 

Whose hand can have formed so fair an abode? 

Are these gardens, perchance, of some pitying God, 

Who sought to afford, when his toil was complete, 

The French cavaliers a pleasant retreat? 

Nay ! warriors who many a battle have won 
The gardener’s work not an instant did shun. 

Replacing at once the fierce rage of Bellona 
By the gentle arts of Flora and Pomona. 

The cantonments were uncomfortable, the cold was 
severe, and the orders were rigorous. 

The Prince of Conde occupied the chateau of Riegel 
owned by the Prince of Schwartzemberg. He was 
214 


STORY OF AN ACT OF TREASON. 


215 


seated in a large office, plainly furnished, with his eyes 
fixed on the fire in whose flames he was trying to out- 
line the profile of his grandson, the Duke d’Enghien, 
now at Honenwher, for whose life he trembled. He 
knew the chances of battle. 

The young duke represented a love and a hope. 

The prince was sixty. His figure, of middle height, 
possessed a vigor which did not detract from its ele- 
gance; his face, expressive and intelligent, had a look 
of mingled gentleness and dignity well suited to win 
affection and respect. 

Some one knocked. 

“ Come in.” 

“ A man who arrived in the diligence which runs 
between Fribourg and Riegel requests admittance.” 

“ Did he give his name?” 

“ Saint- Rejant.” 

“ Admit him at once, and leave us together.” 

The door closed on them immediately. 

“ Oh, Monsieur Saint-Rejant, I was expecting you 
with inexpressible impatience. Well?” 

“ This is the result of my efforts. Monseigneur.” 

“ I am listening.” 

“As had been agreed, I went first to Huningue, 
where I was conducted to General Pichegru on the 
pretext of offering him a new edition of Rousseau.” 

“ So he likes Rousseau?” 

“ At least he pretends to.” 

“He did not learn to appreciate him among the 
monks. ” 

“ So it seems to me.” 

“ Go on.” 

“ I spoke to him of an agreement with you. He re- 


216 


THE ROMANCE OE THE SWORD. 


plied that he had offered you twenty times, in Alsace, 
an opportunity to do what you asked, and he was sur- 
prised that you had not then availed yourself of it. 1 
am repeating his words accurately. Monseigneur.” 

“ Do not conceal anything from me.” 

“ He added that the conditions he imposed at that 
period ought not to have surprised you, since they were 
the same as those formerly dictated to the agent of the 
Duchess of Guiche when she attempted to act on behalf 
of Monsieur. ‘ I have given mature reflection to the 
new matter to be considered. Already, on various 
pretexts, I have ordered three or four of the worst 
battalions in the army to go to Gravelines, Bergues, 
Hieuport, etc. I have removed my park of artillery 
and made the arrangements necessary to secure the 
strongholds of Alsace. In the present condition of 
affairs, this is what I can do. The representatives of 
the people are urging me to cross the Rhine, and I shall 
soon be forced to take the sfep. Let the Prince de 
Conde indicate the place where he desires me to pass 
over the river. I think that, on account of the military 
position occupied by the prince, Neubourg and Stein- 
stadt would be the most favorable points. Let him 
name the day and the hour, the number of men, the 
kind of weapons, remembering, however, that to main- 
tain appearances I ought not to cross the Rhine with 
less than ten to twelve thousand men. I will leave my 
pontoons as if for the transfer of a second column and, 
as soon as the right bank is reached, will proclaim 
royalty. At the same moment, my army will join the 
prince’s forces; we will recross the river together; the 
towns in Alsace will open to us and, aided by the re- 
inforcements I shall leave in them, and the Austrian 


STORY OF AK ACT OF TREASOK. 


217 


battalions, if necessary, we will proceed, by forced 
marches, to Paris, the point to be reached. Urge upon 
the prince to have plenty of wine, meat, and money. 
Let his officers fraternize with mine. Above all, no 
boasting on the part of the emigrants.’ ” 

“ And what reply did you make?” 

“ I said that you had fifteen or sixteen hundred thou- 
sand pounds in cash, five or six millions in property, 
more than half of which could be converted into money 
within four days ; that if he desired you would deposit 
in Basle the sum of one hundred thousand crowns in 
gold, which would be placed at his disposal on call; but 
that you had determined to act without the assistance 
of the Austrians, that you desired the movement to be 
exclusively French ; lastly, that you were awaiting an 
opportunity to raise the white flag.” 

“ Did he object?” 

“He hesitated, then consented.” 

“This soldier really does me much honor.” 

“ Finally, he summed up. I thought it my duty to 
write down the terms of his conclusions, in order not to 
omit a word. Here they are: ‘At the decisive mo- 
ment, I will march upon Mannheim, for I must carry 
out the orders of the representatives of the people, who 
wish to enter Germany at any cost to levy contributions 
and obtain subsistence for the army, which needs every- 
thing. Let the Prince de Conde act accordingly. As 
I may be compelled by circumstances to form a resolu- 
tion when I least expect it, let the prince send me a 
hundred thousand crowns, or let him deposit it either 
at Basle or Frankfort, but in such a manner that I may 
have the certainty that it will be paid at once to the 
person whom I send for it. Tell the prince this, make 


218 


THE ROMAE'CE OF THE SWORD. 


him feel that what I propose is now the only plan which 
can be executed. Especially let him beware of impru- 
dences, shun all trivial considerations; let him have no 
anxiety on my account. Merlin watches me in vain. I 
laugh at him and his colleagues; they would not dare 
to undertake anything against me. The spirit of the 
army is good. The point in question is only to main- 
tain it, and I shall take measures in a way to embarrass 
the Convention, simultaneously in the capital and on 
the frontier. I have my own agents in the sections. I 
hope that they will -speak loudly when the proper time 
comes. I desire universal harmony and mutual effort 
toward the same goal. The matter at stake is a great 
project, not one of Dumouriez’s expeditions.’ ” 

“ Is that all?” 

“No, Monseigneur. General Pichegru ventured to 
make a final condition.” 

“Another one!” 

“ He requires an agreement signed by your hand.” 

“ Never.” 

“ Monseigneur !” 

“Never! I tell you. My opposition is not due solely 
to the disgust which treason inspires in every honest 
heart, but to my reluctance to lower the pride of my 
race so far as to enter into a direct written correspond- 
ence with an upstart Republican.” 

“ Monseigneur, I beseech you to hear me. I know, 
or, rather, my friends and I know, your situation. It 
is deplorable. You are the head of an army which you 
cannot pay. You command a corps in which every 
soldier has his own way, and scorns the orders of his 
superiors. You are misled by a throng of courtiers who 
represent France as ready to fall at your feet. You are 


STORY OF ACT OF TREASON. 


219 


deceived by the courts of St. Petersburg, Vienna, and 
London. The alliance with Pichegru means certain 
victory, and an added disgrace to the Republic.” 

“Ah! Saint-Rejant !” 

“Finally, Monseigneur, union with Pichegru will 
afford means of recovering the pledge which General 
Bonaparte confided to him.” 

“The sword pawned by Monsieur?” 

“And which belonged to Henri IV., Monseigneur.” 

The Prince of Conde remained silent a few minutes. 

He was evidently undergoing a mental struggle. 

The memory of the sword decided him. Going to 
his desk, he sat down, took a pen, and wrote: 

“ Monsieur.” 

“Monseigneur, Pichegru values his title of general.” 

“To call him general would be recognizing the 
Republic !” 

“Monsieur — 'You require a promise from me. I 
pledge myself to fulfil all the conditions stipulated be- 
tween us. In exchange for this letter, I will beg you 
to give Monsieur Saint-Rejant the sword which Mon- 
sieur Bonaparte confided to you. You will be regarded 
as having restored it to me on the day you open the 
gates of Huningue. 

“Louis Joseph de Bourbon.” 

Then, having read the contents of the note to Saint- 
Rejant, he added : 

“May God forgive me and protect us.” 

An hour after, Saint-Rejant was on his way to 
Huningue. 


CHAPTER IL 


WHICH PICHOUX COMMITS A FOLLY, HIS WIFE A 
RECKLESS ACT, CALIGULA TAKES A JOURNEY, AND 
CHARLOTTE MAKES A MAYONNAISE. 

While the events just narrated were occurring at 
Riegel, others of less importance, yet worthy of men- 
tion, happened in the Pichoux household at Paris. 

General Bonaparte had not had time to prolong his 
honeymoon, since he was obliged to start for Italy a few 
days after his marriage. 

At first, Madame Pichoux had felt a secret sense of 
gratification. Jealous of Viscountess de Beauhamais, 
who had deprived her of a customer and bereft her of a 
hope, she congratulated herself upon the circumstance 
which snatched the husband from the wife’s embrace. 

But she was soon compelled to realize that her ex- 
boarder’s absence weighed upon her heart even more 
heavily than his marriage, and she fell into a state of 
melancholy with which neither her husband, her ser- 
vants, nor her customers were familiar. 

Her servants and customers noticed the sadness of 
the mistress of the Three Mile-Stones, without consider- 
ing it of any special importance. 

It was by no means the same with Pichoux who, 
fearing to guess the true source, felt the jealousy to 
which he was already disposed constantly increase. 

220 


PICHOUX COMMITS A FOLLY. 


221 


He tried to question his wife, who, it is hardly neces- 
sary to say, gave him every cause except the correct one. 
Then he resolved to attack her openly. She sent him 
about his business. Pichoux’s doubts increased, and 
his admiration for the victor of Vendemiaire began to 
lessen. 

Another motive lent its aid. 

The day General Bonaparte had noticed him in front 
of Saint-Roch and he had made his seventeenth pro- 
fession of faith, Pichoux had not doubted that his 
fortune was at last made and that the Directory would 
atone for the ingratitude of former governments. But 
nothing of the sort had occurred. General Bonaparte 
had gone to the war, without even thinking of bidding 
him farewell, and the directors appeared to pay no more 
heed to the traitor of the Rue du Valois than if he had 
never existed. 

Between Pichoux’s remarks and Madame Pichoux’s 
regrets there was a perpetual conflict, which could not 
fail to end by a scandal. 

That morning Kerouan rose in the worst possible 
humor. Charlotte haying informed him the evening 
before that the shop where she was employed would be 
closed, a conversation followed which ended in insults 
and violence. Finally he informed the child that he 
had made up his mind not to feed an awkward idler 
any longer and, as new occupations would oblige him 
to live out of Paris, she must shift for herself in the 
future. Charlotte made no reply — she was accustomed 
to bow to misfortune as she did to blows. She saw 
Kerouan make a bundle of some of his clothes, after 
which he said : 

“ From the day of your birth, misfortune has pursued 


222 


THE ROMANCE OE THE SWORD. 


me, clutching me by the throat. I’ve had enough of 
it ! Good-evening !” 

Shaking his fist at her, he disappeared. 

Charlotte ought to have congratulated herself. But 
she was afraid. Was she not alone — all alone in the 
midst of this great Paris, without trade, money, or 
friends? Kerouan beat her, and severely, too, yet she 
fancied that, if necessary, he would defend her. While 
now — Where had he gone! Would he never return? 

Her thoughts then turned to Robert, who had gone 
with General Bonaparte’s army to Italy. At first he 
had written long letters, in which he told her his hopes 
of reaching higher rank, and his grief at being separated 
from her. As he went farther away, the letters became 
fewer. A more experienced person would have attrib- 
uted this infrequency to the difficulty a soldier would 
find in maintaining a correspondence during a cam- 
paign ; she imagined a thousand reasons of a nature to 
sadden her still more. 

Prom Robert her mind wandered to Madame Pichoux. 
On more than one occasion, the latter had shown her 
tokens of kindness. Perhaps she would not refuse to 
employ her until she could get work elsewhere. Her 
resolution was soon made, and, dressing herself, she 
went downstairs, determined to throw herself into the 
river in case of refusal. 

The good mistress of the Three Mile- Stones saw at 
the first glance that some new misfortune had overtaken 
the poor child. 

“ Well, my little girl, so you have been crying again? 
Kerouan is at his old tricks?” 

“ He has gone.” 

‘‘Where?” 


PICHOUX COMMITS A FOLLY. 


223 


‘‘I don’t know. He went off, telling me that he 
would never return.” 

“ Then what are you going to do?” 

“ I am asking myself that question. ” 

“ Since you thought of coming to Madame Pichoux 
you know very well that I’m not going to leave a girl 
of your age in the street. What would my conscience 
say to that? And,” she added, with a consoling smile, 
“what would Grenadier Robert say? Go put your 
bundle in the back-shop. I’ll keep you with me. Per- 
haps you won’t like this business as well as millinery. 
At the first opportunity I’ll let you go again. Do you 
agree?” 

“Oh, Madame Pichoux! how kind you are!” 

“No crying, I beg of you! That does no good. 
Run and put on a cap and an apron.” 

Just as Charlotte returned to the restaurant. Mon- 
sieur Pichoux was coming back from market with 
Caligula, whom he had met on the way. Both were 
gesticulating violently as they walked along by the 
side of the donkey-cart which had formerly carried 
Madame Pichoux to the Rue du Marais, paying no 
heed whether the vehicle kept in the street or if its 
wheels went on the sidewalk. Suddenly the cart struck 
against a post and the donkey fell on its knees, half 
buried under a heap of vegetables and poultry. 
Madame Pichoux could not restrain an exclamation of 
rage, and rushing toward her husband, cried : 

“ If you would attend to the beast, instead of harang- 
uing with Caligula, this wouldn’t have happened !” 

“ If the Directory, instead of giving entertainments at 
the Luxembourg, would widen the street, it wouldn’t 
have happened either. Isn’t that so, Caligula?” 


224 


THE BOMAHCE OE THE SWOED. 


“ I must admit it. When I see Director Barras ” 

“But,” screamed Madame Pichoux, fairly frantic 
with rage, ‘‘ we’re not talking about the Directory. The 
matter in question is our donkey and our provisions.” 

Pichoux, folding his arms, went up to his wife: 

“If our ass possessed the gift of speech, he would 
say exactly what we do. Don’t you suppose he 
suffers like all the rest? Oats are outrageously high ! 
Fodder ” 

“ Do you mean to get your donkey up or not?” 

“All animals should be equal in a republic,” added 
Caligula. “Now, the popular donkeys are too often 
sacrificed to the directorial horses.” 

Madame Pichoux would have given ten years of 
her life to be able to grasp the two chatterers by 
the neck and knock them together till they begged for 
mercy. 

Anger so increased her strength that she planted hec- 
self in front of the donkej^ seized the shafts, and 
dragged the animal to its feet and the vehicle into its 
proper position, while the bystanders who had gathered 
around picked up the provisions. 

Meanwhile Pichoux and Caligula, with their hands 
in their pockets, pursued their way toward the Three 
Mile-Stones. 

After the provisions were portioned out, the cart put 
in the shed and the donkey led to the stable, Madame 
Pichoux went back to her husband, who was continuing 
his conversation with Caligula. 

“Pichoux, I have some news for you.” 

“Will Barras give me a mission?” 

“ Let me alone with your Barras. Kerouan has gone 
off.” 


PICHOUX COMMITS A FOLLY. 


225 


“How you upset me! Well, what do you want me 
to do about it?” 

“ He has gone off and left his daughter.” 

“ Young Robert’s fiancee?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Young Robert, whom you recommended to General 
Bonaparte?” 

“ The very one. So, moved with pity, I took her 
in.” 

“ Are you glad?” 

“ Certainl 3 L Are we not always glad when we have 
done a good deed?” 

“ Now you’ll have somebody to talk with all day long 
about your Bonaparte.” 

“Why not?” 

“ Madame Pichoux, do you suppose I haven’t noticed 
3 ’our sighs and ’upturned eyes ever since the general 
went to Italy? Do you imagine that I haven’t observed 
your eagerness to read the papers — 3 "ou used to detest 
the newspapers — ever since he has been gaining vic- 
tories? And do you think I haven’t a right to be 
anxious about it?” 

“ You’re not going back to that subject?” 

“ I’ll go back to it whenever I please. Your Bona- 
parte ” 

“I’ve seen you cheer him.” 

“I’ve cheered many others! But must enthusiasm 
forever banish reflection? Tell me what your Bona- 
parte has done for me, after all the proofs of devotion I 
gave him on the 13th Vendemiaire? Has he offered 
me a commission? Has he given me a contract? Did 
he even think of letting me get up his wedding break- 
fast? They’re all alike. Amiable and flattering before 


226 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


they come into power. Afterward indifferent and un- 
grateful !” 

“Citizen Pichoux, you are ungrateful,” Caligula 
interrupted. 

“ I don’t make him say so,” said Madame Pichoux. 

“ And why am I wrong?” asked Pichoux. 

“Why?” pursued Caligula. “Because at this mo- 
ment General Bonaparte is the great promoter of 
revolution. Because he is bearing the Republican 
banners through Europe. Because he is a believer in 
equality. He addresses his soldiers familiarly, and 
allows them to reply in the same way.” 

“ Perhaps he accosts my wife familiarly too.” 

“So do I.” 

“ That’s not the same thing.” 

“ Why?” 

“Because you don’t count.” 

“I don’t count!” cried Caligula. “I don’t count! 
Know, Citizen Pichoux, that in a Republic everybody 
counts. With the exception of the ambitious ones, like 
you, who are never satisfied with what they have ” 

“ Say with what they don’t have!” 

“It’s all the same to me! What they don’t have, 
if you prefer.” 

“ If you admire him so much, turn soldier!” 

“There are differences of rank in a regiment, and 
that is against my republican principles.” 

“Then go to Italy and prostrate yourself at his 
feet.” 

“ If I had enough to pay my travelling expenses !” 

“ And take my wife.” 

“Would you let me go?” interrupted Madame 
Pichoux. 


PICHOUX COMMITS A FOLLY. 


22 ? 


“ Certainly !” replied Pichoux, who was beginning to 
be unconscious of what he was saying. 

“ Be careful! 1 might take you at your word.” 

“ I defy you to do it.” 

“You defy me?” 

“Certainly I do!” 

“ Repeat that.” 

“ I defy you to do it. ” 

“Very well, Monsieur Pichoux, you. will pay dearly 
for that word. So, I have had enough of your idle 
twaddle, your follies and blunders! I’ve had enough 
of stirring sauces while you were turning your coat, 
and killing myself to make the Three Mile-Stones pros- 
per, while you waste the profits in doing nothing or 
committing follies. Caligula, I will take you.” 

“Really?” 

“ Upon my word of honor.” 

“When?” 

“ At once. Go and pack your trunk.” 

“ I’ve nothing to put into it.” 

“Then I’ll take you as you are. Monsieur Pichoux, 
will you keep Charlotte?” 

“ Have no anxiety on that score.” 

“ She wdll want for nothing?” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ Charlotte ! Charlotte !” called Madame Pichoux. 

The young girl ran forward. 

“ Would you like to hear from Robert?” 

“Can you ask, Madame Pichoux?” 

“I’m going to get new^s myself.” 

“Down there?” 

“Down there.” 

“ What — are you really going?” 


228 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“ I shall leave you in charge of the business and my 
husband. Don’t let the establishment run down too 
much! As for my husband, what do I care? Upon 
that, Monsieur Pichoux, while I’m getting ready, you 
can drink a parting cup with Caligula.” 

She went up to her room, leaving Charlotte amazed. 
Monsieur Pichoux stupefied, Caligula delighted. 

Charlotte, by Pichoux’s orders, brought a bottle of 
white wine. 

Since his wife wished them to drink a parting-cup, 
they would have one, two, three, ten of them. Ah! 
she thought she could prevent his having an opinion, 
all the opinions he chose ! Ah ! she imagined that he 
could not do without her. Not do without her! Why, 
hitherto, she had only been a drag upon him. But for 
her, he would have attained the highest positions. He 
would soon prove it. When she returned from Italy 
she should see of what Monsieur Pichoux, the master 
of the Three Mile-Stones, was capable. She would 
draw a long face then! She would apologize then! 
She’d be furious then! Your health, Caligula. 

As he paused, Madame Pichoux came downstairs. 
She kissed Charlotte, curtsied to her husband and, 
holding out her hand to Caligula, said: “Forward, 
Citizen!” 

A few minutes after Pichoux, who had now recovered 
his calmness, furtively wiped away a tear. He was 
dying to run after his wife; nothing but fear of the 
world restrained him. Then, bracing himself against 
sorrow, desiring to give a proof of indifference to all 
his employees, he said, addressing K rouan’s daughter: 

“Charlotte, come and show me whether you know 
how to make mayonnaise.” 


CHAPTER III. 


CITIZENESS BONAPARTE. 

If General Bonaparte’s departure was not calculated 
to render Madame Pichoux happy, it left Madame 
Josephine Bonaparte in a situation which might, at 
least, be termed abnormal. 

Whatever might have been the motive to which she 
had yielded in marrying him, obedience to a real or 
feigned sympathy, she had once more become a widow, 
a widow on the day after her nuptials. 

A different woman would perhaps have endured the 
separation and loneliness by devoting herself exclusively 
to her two children, Hortense and Eugene ; by watch- 
ing the progress of the Italian campaign, proudly 
enjoying the success of its commander, and reflecting 
that the young hero’s glory would shed its rays upon 
her. Madame Bonaparte sought consolation elsewhere : 
in pleasure. 

In pleasure, for which, with her reckless Creole 
thoughtlessness, she longed more than ever. 

Lying indolently in bed, though it was eleven o’clock 
in the morning, she read the letters which General 
Bonaparte had sent to her since his departure, each 
more ardent than the others. When he was ready to 
utter an oath, he need only place his hand upon his 
heart, where Josephine’s likeness rested! He was 
obliged to organize armies, struggle against superior 
229 


230 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


oflScers, coinmunicate to all his patriotism and his 
genius; what mattered that! He always had time to 
write a fervent letter, or merely a love-note. This 
time he found it even in the midst of battle, amid the 
intoxication of victory. If he expressed his gratitude 
to his soldiers he said : “ I offer you my thanks !” By 
conquering, they had not only toiled for the glory of 
France, but also for that of Josephine, since she now 
bore the name of Bonaparte. 

He loved her so ardently that, spite of the splendor of 
his victories, the magnificence of his triumph, he was 
not happy. By the side of the place which he occupied 
in the chariot of victory, there was another which 
always seemed to him empty, and which he desired to 
see Josephine occupy. In vain flatterers and friends 
strove to divert his thoughts from what had become a 
fixed idea, a more and more urgent necessity. They 
vainly presented to him the wife of a Piedmontese 
officer : he turned disdainfully away. In vain Grassini 
threw herself at his feet, beseeching him to render her 
famous by a caress : he paid her and rudely dismissed 
her. What he wanted was the wife who completely 
filled his heart, his beautiful Creole, who had first 
taught him how to love, garlanding her young lion 
with flowers of intoxicating fragrance. “ Come quickly ; 
I warn you that you will find me ill, if you delay. The 
fatigues of war, and your absence, are too much to bear 
at once. You are coming, are j'ou not? You will 
be here, at my side, on my heart, in my arms ! Take 
wings ! Come ! Come !” 

These words were in the last letter whose pages she 
was turning. 

Opening her hand, she let it fall and closed her eyes. 


CITIZENESS BONAPARTE. 


231 


In one of the half-somnolent conditions when, as it 
were, we dream while awake, she imagined herself 
with him, amid the beating of drums, the blare of 
trumpets, the galloping of horses, the rumbling of 
caissons, the din of arms ! Every instant there would 
be an alarm, a skirmish, a battle, shrieks, and blood ! 

Shrieks — and she loved only music. 

Blood — she loved nothing but roses. 

No, she would not go there. 

She would stay in Paris, where she reigned, like 
Barras and Madame Tallien. In Paris where, within 
a few weeks, she had gathered a court of admirers and 
worshippers. In Paris, where pleasure was reborn, 
where festivals were constantly increasing, where there 
was singing and dancing 

Then her thoughts grew more definite. To reign one 
must have money. She lacked it. General Bonaparte 
had sent his procuration to her, but in spite of his fame, 
he did not yet inspire a sufficient degree of confidence. 
The money-lenders used the argument which Ave have 
already heard from the. lips of the owner of the Three 
Mile-Stones — he might be killed ! The security offered 
by a soldier is contingent, especially at a period when 
tlie end of the war cannot be very clearly seen. 
Madame Bonaparte made Louise Compoint, her wait- 
ing-maid, her confidante concerning her fears and 
difficulties, and Louise had ransacked Paris in the hope 
of finding some usurer more easy to persuade, but with- 
out success. 

The dream becoming importunate she roused herself, 
stretched, yawned, and left her bed. It must be time 
to dress. Half-past twelve ! 

‘‘ Louise, pick up these letters and put them in my 


232 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWOKD. 


desk. Give me my dressing-gown and slippers. Ah ! 
Louise, why are not Bonaparte’s laurels gold?” 

Louise Compoint understood the regret which this 
remark contained, and inferred that her mistress’ 
funds were low. 

Wishing to obtain a still larger share of Madame 
Bonaparte’s confidence, she was about to answer, when 
the bell rang. 

“I am at home to no one! You understand! To 
no one !” 

Louise Compoint returned a few minutes after. 

“Madame, I took the visitor into the drawing-room.” 

“ I told you ” 

“He came from Monsieur Charles.” 

“ Oh, that is different !” 

Madame Bonaparte’s face had brightened at the name 
of Charles! Poor Charles! With what discretion he 
had endured the grief he felt when she sacrificed him to 
Bonaparte. They had not met since her marriage. 
He had probably concealed his despair in some distant 
place. Ah, if he had had wealth ! — even in the future. 
What a difference between his handsome, aristocratic 
countenance, with its large, languishing eyes and silken 
mustache, and Bonaparte’s thin, pale face with its long, 
carelessly powdered locks. What a gulf between the 
elegance, the poetic gentleness of the one, and the abrupt 
manners and varying moods of the other ! The whole 
wide distance that separates a boudoir from a barrack. 

“Rearrange my hair quickly, or — stop! How old 
is this visitor?” 

“ He is an elderly man.” 

“ Throw a coverlet over my bed. That’s right. Now 
show Monsieur Charles’ messenger in. You can be 


CITIZEKESS BON^APARTE. 


233 


present at his reception. By the way, you haven’t 
told me his name.” 

“ Samuel.” 

“ Samuel ! Throw the doors wide open, Louise. You 
are probably admitting fortune !” 

Louise opened only one of the folding-doors. It was 
enough to let the Jew pass through. 

He came forward with a low bow. 

“Sit down, Monsieur Samuel. Will you permit me 
to go on with my toilet?” 

“ I beg you to do so.” 

“You have come from ” 

“From Monsieur Charles.” 

“How is he?” 

“Very well.” 

“ I suspect him of sulking.” 

“ Perhaps so. May I speak in mademoiselle’s 
presence?” 

“ With perfect freedom.” 

“ Monsieur Charles, who has your interest ” 

“Wait a minute,” interrupted Madame Bonaparte, 
and turning to Louise, she added : 

“ Dress my hair a la Roxelane. I want to try it. I 
was told yesterday that it would be wonderfully becom- 
ing to me.” 

Then, resuming her former position, she said: “You 
can go on. Monsieur Samuel.” 

“ I was saying, Madame, that Monsieur Charles, who 
has your interests as much at heart as his own, has 
informed me of the present condition of affairs. You 
are embarrassed?” 

“More than embarrassed. Monsieur Samuel.” 

“ How much do you need?” 


234 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SAVORD. 


“Fifty thousand francs.” 

“ Fifty thousand francs ! That is a large sum.” 

“Very trifling compared with a war contribution. 
Now, I am Madame la Generale Bonaparte, Citizeness 
Bonaparte, if you like.” 

“I prefer Our Lady of Victories.” 

“Why, that is a pretty name. Who gave it to me?” 

“ Everybody.” 

“ I appreciate it all the more.” 

“A war contribution, did you say? Republican 
victories bring in so little.” 

“In the beginning.” 

Samuel stopped. 

The pause was not to give his opinion of the Roxelane 
coiffure, which was finished, nor to compliment his 
hostess upon the round white arms on which she was 
putting rice-powder, but to reflect upon the way in 
w^hich she had uttered those words : “ In the beginning. ” 

Fearing that she might perceive the effect produced, 
he went on : 

“ We’ll agree upon fifty thousand francs. Are you 
authorized by your husband to borrow money?” 

“ I have his procuration.” 

“Will you let me look at it?” 

She rose, opened a box standing on a bureau and took 
out a paper. 

Samuel read it. 

“Everything is correct. Here are fifty thousand 
francs. I’ll charge only ten per cent, out of regard for 
the general who is putting to flight the Royalist party 
which I hate, and elevating magnificently in the eyes of 
all Europe the Republic which I love. Stop, I’ll give 
you a proof of my disinterestedness. Look.” 


CITIZEi^ESS BONAPARTE. 


235 


He rummaged in his pocket, took out a case and, 
placing it before Madame Bonaparte’s eyes, said : 

“ What do you think of this bracelet?” 

“ It is superb.” 

“ Isn’t it? See how wonderfully the serpent is 
imitated. And the little headset with diamonds. One 
would think it was going to bite. It belonged to an 
Austrian Archduchess. Chance, thinking it better 
suited to a noble citizeness, placed it in my hands, that 
I might offer it to you. An unusual opportunity. 
Twenty thousand. I won’t name any date of pay- 
ment. A receipt will be sufficient.” 

Madame Bonaparte had seized the ornament and was 
devouring it with her eyes, struggling between the de- 
sire to possess the bracelet and the fear of committing 
a folly. Coquetry carried the day. Samuel had not 
doubted it an instant. 

She sat down at her desk, wrote the note and the 
receipt, gave them to Samuel, and after convincing her- 
self that there was no one within hearing— Louise 
Compoint had gone out a few minutes before — said : 

“So Monsieur Charles is angry with me?” 

“ Like any rejected lover.” 

“ Then he has told you his secrets?” 

“ Told me his secrets, Madame ! Placing full confi- 
dence in me, and I assure you he is right, he at first 
described the effect you produced upon him at the time 
of your first meeting, his hesitation in revealing his 
feelings, his jealousy at the appearance of General 
Bonaparte, his despair at the news of your marriage. 
At the present time you would not recognize him; he 
has grown thin and pale, he is desperate, it will kill 
him.” 


236 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“ Monsieur Samuel !” 

“I don’t exaggerate, Madame. It will kill him. 
Under his careless exterior Monsieur Charles conceals 
a heart as tender as a child’s.” 

“ But why has he not come to see me?” 

“ From the fear of displeasing you.” 

“ He should have first ascertained that.” 

“That is what he has commissioned me to do, 
Madame.” 

“ Really, Monsieur Samuel?” 

“ Upon my word of honor.” 

Bending toward her, he watched, without losing the 
slightest change of expression, the increasing emotion 
depicted on her face. Our Lady of Victories was 
evidently vanquished. He must profit by it to advance 
the suitor’s cause. 

“ Then you would consent to receive him?” 

“ With pleasure.” 

“Well, Madame, the pleasure will not be delayed.” 

“ Monsieur Charles ” 

“ Is walking under your windows, watching anxiously 
for a reply. I am going to bring him in.” 

“But I amTiot dressed.” 

“Monsieur Charles is a loyal combatant. He will 
wait until you are ready before commencing hostilities.” 

He left the room, without giving Madame Bonaparte 
time to retract. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE INTERRUPTED DANCE. 

Josephine now had but one idea : to deck herself for 
conquest. 

After telling a servant to show Monsieur Charles into 
the drawing-room, she recalled Louise Compoint and 
begged her to finish her toilet as quickly as possible. 
She put on a mauve satin dress, slippers tied round her 
ankle with ribbons of the same color and, spite of the 
unseasonableness of the hour, she clasped on her arm 
the bracelet which she had just obtained from Samuel. 

Monsieur Charles, who was skilled in the arts of love- 
making, had played his part skilfully, skilfully enough, 
at any rate, for Madame Bonaparte to be touched by it. 
He had discerned at the first glance how to infiuence 
this Creole, in whose temperament inconsistency some- 
times contended with sentimentality, a contradiction 
very frequent at that epoch. Madame Bonaparte, he 
knew, was fond of reading novels. She had turned the 
pages of Madame d’Hautpoul’s Lilia, a pretty bit of 
tapestry wrought by a skilful hand, in which she 
followed with interest the tender subjects outlined by 
the needle threaded with the colors of all the passions. 
She had devoured Bernardin de Saint Pierre, to revive 
the emotions of a youthful innocence which had long 
since vanished. She had even sighed with Saint-Preux, 
willingly yielding herself captive to the emotional 
237 


238 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


charm of Rousseau. By suddenly disappearing, Mon- 
sieur Charles had left her to imagine him the victim of 
unconquerable grief. By his unexpected reappearance, 
he seemed to yield to an invincible passion. 

When she entered the drawing-room, she found him 
with his face hidden in his hands, in the attitude of a 
man overwhelmed by sorrow. She was obliged to touch 
him on the shoulder to rouse him, as if from some ab- 
sorbing thought. Then, raising his eyes imploringly, 
he said in a voice which feigned emotion with an art 
Talma himself might have envied : 

“You are not angry with me for returning?” 

“Did I make the slightest objection to receiving 
you?” 

“ I had sworn never to attempt to see you again. I 
believed myself stronger. I was mistaken. The heart 
has its cowardice. I admit mine, and come humbly to 
beseech *at once your indulgence and your pardon.” 

A woman less frivolous than Madame Bonaparte, 
more capable of reflection, would have noticed that 
Monsieur Charles’ suffering had not disturbed a hair 
of his head or his mustache. She would have reflected 
that a sincere sorrow displayed less care in dress, less 
elegance of posture, less firmness of tone. She would 
have compared him to those comedians who give them- 
selves up to the deepest despair without disarranging a 
single detail of their costume, and whose sobs do not 
even disturb their paint. But what charmed her more 
than aught else was this very perfection of detail. 
Monsieur Charles was not the last person to be aware 
of it. 

“I grant you both, but only on condition that you 
will be more sensible.” 


THE INTERRUPTED DANCE. 


230 


“Oh, Madame, do we reason when we love and 
despair?” 

“Forget!” 

“ Every one cannot rule the heart as you have suc- 
ceeded in governing yours.” 

“Who tells you that I have commanded it to that 
degree? I married Bonaparte from necessity.” 

“Solely?” 

“Yes, from necessity! I was a widow with two 
children, penniless, having before me only an uncertain 
future. Bonaparte represented a different destiny, full 
of promises which he was already beginning to realize. 
I listened to the voice of reason. That is all. Do you 
desire a proof of this? Since his arrival in Italy, he 
has sent me almost daily letters in which he entreats 
me to join him. At first I turned a deaf ear. Then I 
invented excuses: illness, possible maternity. Stay,” 
she added, going to her desk, “you shall see. I believe 
this is the letter. From Cherasco — No. This one 
from Lodi. No, that isn’t it either. Ah, here it is! It 
is dated, at Milan. Listen: ‘I have committed so 
many sins against you, that I know not how to expiate 
them. I accused you of lingering in Paris, and you 
were ill ! Pardon me, my dear one ; the love which you 
inspired has robbed me of reason, I shall never regain 
it. This is a disease of which we are never cured. My 
presentiments are so gloomy that I would limit myself 
to seeing you, clasping you in my arms, and dying 
together.’ I beg your pardon for entering into these 
details.” 

“Goon!” sighed Monsieur Charles, raising his eyes 
heavenward. 

Josephine continued: “‘A child as adorable as its 


240 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


mother will see the light of the world in your arms. I, 
luckless fellow, would be content wuth a single day ! ’ 
Soldiers are usually so artless!” she remarked, replac- 
ing the letter in her desk. Then, returning to a seat 
near her visitor, she asked : 

“Are you convinced?” 

Monsieur Charles eagerly seized her hand and raised 
it to his lips. 

As Madame Bonaparte did not withdraw it, the visitor 
could easily estimate the progress he had made in a 
few minutes. Feeling more 'assured of her favor 
already. Monsieur Charles thought he had played with 
feeling sufficiently, and suddenly changing the expres- 
sion of his countenance gave the conversation a 
different turn. 

“You would depart for Italy just as Paris is again 
awaking. When pleasure reigns everywhere! I went 
yesterday to Madame de Treilhan’s ball. To forget! 
You never beheld such a lavish display of satin, silk, 
laces, jewels. By the way, they are beginning to 
abandon tunics and to wear waists higher than ever, 
almost under the arms. It is distressing for thin people 
and ridiculous for stout ones, but charming for those of 
medium size, of whom you are one. At eleven o’clock, 
the musicians stopped playing, a stage was erected, and 
a play by the two Segurs, senior and junior, was an- 
nounced. Do you know them? One represented the 
court of France at the court of Catharine II. ; the other 
has worn, from the days of the Revolution, the epau- 
lettes of a general. The play was poor ; luckily, it didn’t 
last more than ten minutes. But another followed. 
The — the — now I have it: ‘Madame Angot, or The 
Fortunate Fish- Woman.’ Corsse played the heroine, 


THE INTERRUPTED DANCE. 


241 


a Madame Abraham, of the market, whose daughter 
was- courted by a subaltern officer equipped with a false 
name and false thighs. Madame Angot will become a 
proverb! After the comedy, there was more dancing 
and supper. Madame de Treilhan was dazzlingly 
witty. She said malicious things about everybody, 
even your husband. Some one who was present, having 
read a few days before that your Bonaparte had cut the 
hostile army in two, she replied: ‘That doesn’t surprise 
me. He’s as sharp as a sword. ’ ” 

As he went on, Josephine’s pleasure in his chit-chat 
increased. These were the kind of stories which 
amused her, they were something very different from 
the orders of the day in the Army of Italy. And how 
he told them! And how handsome he was! Even 
handsomer in civilian dress than in uniform. An 
atmosphere of genuine aristocracy emanated from his 
whole person. Then the handkerchief he drew out to 
wipe his lips, a lace-edged handkerchief, exhaling a 
perfume composed of cinnamon, benzoin, and bergamot, 
a mixture whose invention he claimed. 

“I forgot! There was a Russian dance! Madame 
de Treilhan always has something new. Wait, you 
shall see. Rise. Put your hands behind your back. 
Like that. Very well. Two steps forward, two 
back. Tra la la, tra la la. Turn. Perfect! Begin 
again. I’ll be your vis-a-vis. Two steps forward, 
two back. Tra la la. How give me your hand — we 
end like this: A curtsey, two stamps with the 
foot a la Cossack. You let yourself go into my arms. 
Bravo ! 

“How ” 

Some one knocked at the door. 

16 


242 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“Madame,” said Louise Compoint, “it is Citizen 
Junot.” 

Madame Bonaparte could not restrain a gesture of 
impatience, or Monsieur Charles one of vexation. 

“Let him come in.” Then, as Monsieur Charles 
seemed about to take leave, she added hastily, “Don’t 
go!” 

Junot, wearing the undress uniform of ' a hussar 
officer, rushed into the room. 

“ Oh ! Madame !” he cried breathlessly, “ if Bonaparte 
could only press your hands as I press them now ! I 
have just arrived from Italy, cursing the slow pace of 
the horses ! I bring the latest tidings from my general ! 
A hero, madame! The Genius of War in the midst of 
the thunder. I am fairly bending under the burden of 
his trophies : flags captured from the foe, which, at a 
popular festival, the Directory will soon exhibit to the 
people. You will be invited, Madame; you will learn 
to love your great man still more. For he is complain- 
ing, Madame. Your absence and silence make him 
wretched, so wretched that at any cost you must set 
out with me in a few days. The most famous soldier 
and the most loyal friend awaits you.” 

While Junot was speaking, overflowing with joy 
and pride, and a little also with the satisfaction of 
showing his colonel’s uniform, while assuming the 
attitudes of a troubadour and soldier before the eyes of 
Louise Compoint, to whom he would gladly have 
offered his homage for an hour of his warlike life, 
Madame Bonaparte looked at Monsieur Charles with a 
glance which seemed to apologize for the interruption 
of their interview and ask pardon for this inopportune 
introduction of the name of Bonaparte. 


THE INTEKRUPTED DANCE. 


243 


Spite of the diversion of his thoughts by the young 
maid, Junot had noticed the understanding between 
Madame Bonaparte and the stranger. A suspicion 
entered his mind which was visible on his face. 
Madame Bonaparte hastened to remove it. 

“Set out with you for Italy, Junot! Does not Napo- 
leon remember that I have been ill? Doesn’t he fear 
that such a journey might cause a relapse? Besides, 
what can a woman do in camp among all those soldiers?” 

“Join the man she loves; bring him the comfort he 
desires.” 

“What comfort can he need in the midst of his 
triumphs?” 

“ Hasn’t he written to you several times about it?” 

“ True — I will consider the matter. So the festival 
of the flags will soon take place?” 

“ On the 10th Prairial.” 

“Will you come for me?” 

“ I am at your service.” 

“ At what hour?” 

“ Half -past nine.” 

“ It is settled then.” 

Colonel Junot was utterly bewildered. How could 
he have expected such a reception? She had scarcely 
inquired for the general? She had not asked a single 
question, though he had so much to tell her. He had 
evidently disturbed her in her interview with this cox- 
comb, whom she had not even thought of presenting to 
him. If he only dared to talk with the waiting-maid ! 
He had something else in view now than merely giving 
her a hug. But how could he manage it? Perhaps it 
was better to remain in ignorance. Besides, time 
pressed. He had an appointment with Barras to 


2U 


THE KOMAKCE OF THE SWORD. 


arrange the programme of the ceremony. He made an 
effort, bowed to Madame Bonaparte, passed in front of 
Monsieur Charles as if he did not see him, smiled at 
Louise Compoint, and vanished. 

“ Would you go?” cried Monsieur Charles, as soon as 
they were alone. 

She smiled at the question, charmed by the jealous 
exclamation, and with a manner in which the treachery 
of the Creole w^as blended with the coquetry of the 
woman, said: “Let us go back to our Russian dance. 
Monsieur Charles. We were just at stamping the 
foot ” 

“A la Cossack.” 

“Yes. I give you my hand ” 

“We turn ” 

“ A curtsey ” 

“Two stamps.” 

“You let yourself drop into my arms.” 

He kissed her forehead. 

“ Monsieur Charles !” 

“Tra, la, la, la!” 


CHAPTER V. 


THE FESTIVAL OF VICTORY. 

At eight o’clock in the morning, the Champ-de- 
Mars — it was the 10th Prairial — was glowing with 
spring sunshine. 

In the centre of the Champ rose a platform to which 
led four flights of steps, flanked by lions, the symbol of 
courage, strength, and generosity. 

The circular line marking the space within which 
the ceremonial was to be held was formed by cannon 
and the circumference of the platform was decorated by 
fourteen trees to which the trophies were fastened : the 
flags of fourteen armies, united by garlands. 

On a pedestal, in the centre of the eminence, rose a 
statue of Liberty seated upon trophies of weapons. 
One hand rested upon the constitutional charter; the 
other held a rod, surmounted with the cap of William 
Tell. Around her, upon four antique tripods, perfumes 
were burning. At her right and left, on lower pedestals, 
were statues of Victory , personified as Fame, with war 
trumpets at their lips. 

At ten o’clock the heat of the sun was doubly intense 
and illumined with warmth and light a nation elate 
and quivering with pride at the sight of the enemy’s 
banners which conquest had bestowed. For the people 
now understand that if great captains give their names 
“ 245 


246 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


to victories, it is the people who win them, their blood 
which is risked and shed. 

The nation to-day has a hundred thousand heads. It 
has rushed to the spot in throngs. It laughs, talks, 
sings : this is not the terrible mob of three years ago, 
with fiery eyes, savage voices, clenched fists, a thirst 
for vengeance. It is the people, the real people, aware 
of their power, of their rights, and proud of the part 
they play. The people who have chastised the insolence 
of kings and come to gaze at their booty. A magnifi- 
cent booty ! At that very moment the enemy’s fiags 
were waving in the breeze. A salvo of artillery thun- 
dered. The crowd, quivering with excitement, pressed 
forward ; every head was raised in order not to lose any 
detail of the procession headed by the National Guard. 

It advanced, preceded by drums and trumpets, with 
the bearing of veteran troops. In truth they were 
veterans judging by the hardships of their campaigns — 
campaigns of the barriers, squares, streets, and street- 
crossings. Political campaigns, which are the most 
terrible, the most destructive, because they are the most 
pitiless. The fiag of the Idea renders its followers 
fiercer than the banner of the native land. 

The National Guard w^as followed by the home 
troops which had conquered in Vendemiaire! Then 
came its artillery which had destroyed the sections and 
thundered at Saint-Roch. 

A cheer greeted the passage of a cannon crowned 
with laurel. 

It was at Jemmapes. 

Next appeared the established authorities, then the 
Directory , the ministers, the diplomatic corps, and lastly 
the wounded soldiers and the veterans. 


THE FESTIVAL OF VICTORY. 


247 


Shouts of “ Long live the Republic !” rang from every 
throat. 

The cry of joy and triumph was followed by an- 
other. 

A carriage had stopped a few yards from the enclosure 
and a man about thirty-five years old, resplendent in 
the magnificent uniform of a colonel of hussars, 
descended. His name ran through the crowd. 

It’s Junot.” 

“General Bonaparte’s friend.” 

“ His aide.” 

“The one who, at Toulon, had his writing sanded 
by the English howitzers.” 

“ And the one who brought the flags.” 

Junot held out his hand to a lady, radiant with grace 
and beauty, then to another who was still more beauti- 
ful. He hesitated an instant. To which one should 
he offer his arm? With military promptness, he made 
up his mind, offered his left arm to one, his right to the 
other, and went forward, proud of his double mission, 
letting his sabre drag behind him with a resonant 
clanking. 

The crowd continued their questions and answers. 

“The one on the right is General Bonaparte’s wife.” 

“ And the other?” 

“Madame Tallien.” 

Madame Tallien was of little importance. But the 
wife of the conqueror of Italy was a different person. 
Every neck was outstretched, every eye scanned her 
face, every mouth wanted to speak to her. 

“ Long live General Bonaparte !” 

Junot started. They had cheered his general. His 
general whom he loved and respected! His general 


248 the eomahce of the sword. 

whom he represented! His general, whose wife was 
leaning on his arm. 

“ Long live General Bonaparte ! ” 

“Do you hear, Madame?” he murmured, bending 
toward the right, for he had given the place of honor to 
Madame Bonaparte, sacrificing Our Lady of Thermidor 
to Our Lady of Victory. 

She did not seem to notice it ; her eyes were turned 
toward the platform which he was approaching; she 
was seeking some one, some one whom she did not see. 
Her anxiety and disappointment rendered her blind to 
what was passing, deaf to what was said. 

Junot went on: “They are shouting ‘Long live 
General Bonaparte!’ You have a share in the enthu- 
siasm. Bow to them.” 

She did not hear Junot, and he turned toward 
Madame Tallien who was bestowing bows and smiles. 
Lacking the thanks of the wife, the people would at 
least have those of the patroness. 

“ Long live the Republic !” 

As the cheer was repeated for the second time, the band 
of the Grenadiers struck up the Marseillaise with an ac- 
companiment of drums and fifes. Junot straightened 
himself still more; it seemed as if the clanking of his 
huge sabre became still more resonant. How clearly 
the Marseillaise, which he had so often heard on battle- 
fields, rang out in these great days of peace ! His eyes 
filled with tears which he tried to repress, fearing that 
a soldier’s tears might seem ridiculous. In vain — they 
coursed down his cheeks, moistening the scar of a 
wound which he had received at Lodi — a sword-stroke 
parried too late — and fell upon the embroidery of his 
uniform. Madame Tallien controlled herself with 


THE FESTIVAL OF VICTORY. 


249 


difficulty, but she did control herself, coquetry conquer- 
ing patriotism. Madame Bonaparte saw nothing of all 
this. She was still watching the stage anxiously, 
almost angrily. Suddenly her face regained its seren- 
ity, and a smile illumined it. Had she seen the Italian 
flags? No. It was Monsieur Hippolyte Charles. 

The members of the Directory and the diplomatic 
corps rose to receive General Bonaparte’s representa- 
tives. Places had been reserved for them, and they sat 
down. Junot turned his head and recognized the man 
whom he had met a few days before in the Rue de 
Chantereine. He had managed to obtain a place be- 
hind Madame Bonaparte, to whom he bowed with a 
conceited smile, and was answered by a significant 
gesture. Madame Tallien saw nothing of all this. 
She was expressing her admiration and delight to 
Barras. The Grenadiers’ band finished playing the 
Marseillaise and President Carnot advanced to the front 
of the platform. Silence fell upon the multitude. 

“It is,” he began, “at the moment when the nation 
seems born anew; when the earth, adorning herself 
with flowers and verdure, promises us fresh harvests, 
when all creatures express in their own language the 
beneficent intelligence which renews the universe, that 
the French people come at this solemn festival to 
render a striking homage to the talents and virtues of 
the native land and of mankind. What day can better 
unite all hearts? What citizen, what man, can be a 
stranger to the feeling of gratitude? We exist only by 
a long series of benefits, and our lives are but a constant 
exchange of services. Scarcely does the world ” 

While the president was continuing his speech. 
Monsieur Charles bent toward Madame Bonaparte: 


250 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“You see, Madame, the power of sincere feelings. 
In the midst of this throng of citizens, by the side of 
these trophies of war, I see, I hear only you. I am 
indifferent to everything, native land, fame, all. If 
chance had favored me as it favored the general, I 
would have exchanged all my laurels for one smile 
from you, and would have wished to enjoy my victory 
in solitude and darkness.” 

She had listened, had heard him. His voice seemed 
like a caress so sweet that she closed her eyes, like a 
petted cat. 

Junot, his head resting on the hands that clasped his 
sabre, was comp etely absorbed in the president’s speech. 

Madame Tallien listened attentively, less as a patriot 
than as a dilettante. 

The president had not stopped to take breath. 

“ He who is a good son and a good brother is also a 
good citizen. He loves his native land and joyfully 
pays it the tribute of his services; he takes pleasure in 
returning to his brothers the protection which he 
received from them ; magistrate or warrior, artisan or 
agriculturist, in the temple of the arts, in the senate, in 
the field of glory, in the workshops of trade, he shows 
himself eager to contribute to the prosperity of his 
country and deserve its gratitude. For there is also a 
gratitude of nations toward individuals. At this very 
moment a great people has assembled to express its 
thanks to the virtuous citizens who have deserved them. 
How we rejoice to pay this homage to all you to whom 
our native land owes its safety, its glory, and the 
foundations of its prosperity.” 

Monsieur Charles had again leaned so near that he 
inhaled the perfume surrounding Madame Bonaparte; 


THE FESTIVAL OF VICTORY. 


251 


SO near that she could feel the warmth of his breath. 
“A deep solitude,” he murmured, “in a secluded corner 
of the country, with no other witnesses than the sky, 
the stars, and the flower-strewn earth. To love fear- 
lessly, without rude emotion, as sister souls must love 
in Paradise. To hear no longer the shouts of the popu- 
lace nor of the soldiers, nor the distant echoes of endless 
wars. Ah ! if I had known you in Martinique ! How 
happy I would have made you ! One moment of that 
happiness, madame, is worth every triumph, with its 
fatal train of disappointments, tears, and vengeance ! I 
love you !” 

He appeared in a new light. Until now, he had 
addressed himself only to her levity and coquetry. 
Now he bewildered her by words skilfully chosen to 
appear like the expression of deep tenderness. He 
attacked her unsatisfied heart. And, though he could 
not see her face, he perceived the effect produced by the 
swaying of her head, the raising of the shoulders, the 
slight shiver which ever and anon stirred the indolent 
languor of her attitude. 

Applause, in which Junot and Madame Tallien joined, 
had just emphasized a period in the speech. 

Carnot paused a few seconds, then went oh : “ What 

a spectacle for the nations and what a terrible lesson 
for the foes of liberty ! A nascent republic arms her 
children to defend her independence; nothing can re- 
strain their impetuosity. They cross rivers, force en- 
trenchments, climb crags. Here, after a throng of 
victories, they extend our frontiers to the barriers which 
nature has given us, and pursuing amid ice and snow 
the remnants of the three armies, transform an oppressed 
and hostile nation into a free and allied people. 


^52 


THE KOMAKCE OF THE SWORD. 


There, they exterminate the hordes of traitors and 
brigands poured forth by England, punish the guilty 
leaders, and restore to the republic brothers who had too 
long been estranged. Here, crossing the Pyrenees, they 
dash down their peaks, overthrowing all who oppose 
their rush, and are stopped only by an honorable peace. 
Scaling the Alps and the Apennines, they cross the Po, 
and the Adda, the soldiers’ ardor is seconded by the 
genius and audacity of their commanders; they plan 
prudently, and execute energetically, sometimes quietly 
directing their forces, sometimes rushing into the 
midst of dangers at the head of their brothers in arms. 
Oh ! why can I not unroll the vast and glorious picture of 
their victories ! "Why can I not name our most intrepid 
defenders! What a throng of sublime images and 
glorious names press upon my memorj"! Immortal 
warriors ! Posterity will refuse to believe in the mul- 
titude of your triumphs ; but to us there is no improb- 
ability in the recital.” 

As fresh applause burst from the populace, and Junot, 
not understanding, was wondering why, among these 
bravest of the brave, the orator had not named Bona- 
parte, Monsieur Charles, profiting by a movement upon 
the platform, glided to the side of Madame Bonaparte, 
who not only did not shrink but moved nearer to Junot 
to make room for him. An instant after he touched 
her hand, and she was within an ace of yielding hers 
to his clasp. 

“ When I reflect that I have made your acquaintance 
in the midst of so many different events I cannot help 
blessing chance. Is it really chance? Rather a special 
Providence that, watching over us, must unite us some 
day.” 


THE FESTIVAL OF VICTORY. 


253 


“Republican army,” the president resumed, “repre- 
sented in this enclosure by a portion of yourselves, in- 
visible phalanxes whose trophies I behold on all sides, 
and whose fresh victories I foresee in the future, 
advance and receive the triumphal crowns which the 
French nation commands you to affix to your banners.” 

“In saying reunite us,” Monsieur Charles added, “I 
deceived myself concerning my situation.” 

“And you, Frenchmen, who are being led astray,” 
pursued the president, “ be impressed by this touching 
spectacle ” 

“Yes, I deceived myself, since before possessing you 
I might lose you.” 

Madame Bonaparte cast a look at him full of mingled 
reproach and promise. 

The president’s voice rose louder in conclusion : 

“Have our defenders triumphed in vain? Would 
you desire ‘ that dissensions and disturbances should 
destroy all the fruit of their exploits?” 

“And if I lose you,” Monsieur Charles murmured, 
“ I shall know how to die.” 

Madame Bonaparte — Citizeness Bonaparte — no longer 
resisting, whispered, “I love you also,” while President 
Carnot .closed his speech with the words : 

“To-day it is your duty to abjure your hatreds; 
French blood has flowed for all; do not show yourselves 
ingrates on the day of gratitude.” 

Enthusiasm had reached its height. The people 
again shouted : “ Long live our native land ! Long 

live the republic ! Long live General Bonaparte !” The 
Grenadiers’ band again played the national hymn, 
accompanied by the drums and trumpets, enlivened by 
the sharp notes of the fifes. In the distance the cannon 


254 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


thundered like the echo of those which at the same 
moment were roaring in the neighborhood of Venice. 
The sun, now in the zenith, glittered upon the embroi- 
deries of the uniforms, the points of the bayonets, the 
blades of the swords, the tops of the standards support- 
ing the banners. Junot and President Carnot embraced 
each other. The whole nation, in a legitimate outburst 
of pride, applauded the scene. 

Citizeness Bonaparte had secretly permitted her hand 
to rest in the clasp of a fool. 


CHAPTER VI. 


AT VENICE. 

On the 12th of May, 1797, while the people of Venice 
were firing in the neighborhood of the Grand Council 
then in session, the latter, imagining that a massacre 
was going on, sent ten heralds into the city to read the 
following resolution : 

“ In Grand Council : 

“ The necessity of assuring the safety of the religion, 
life, and property of all the inhabitants of this state has 
determined the Grand Council to pass the resolutions of 
the 1st and 4th of this month, which gave to its deputies 
near the person of the General-in-chief of the Army of 
Italy, Bonaparte, all the powers needful to fulfil this 
important object. 

“ To-day, for the security of the religion of all the citi- 
zens, in the hope that their interests will be guaranteed 
and with them those of the patrician class and all the 
individuals who shared in the privileges conceded by 
the republic ; finally for the security of the treasury and 
the bank : 

“ The Grand Council, firm in the principles which 
dictated the two resolutions aforesaid, and in accordance 
with the reports of its deputies, adopts the system 
which has been proposed to it of a provisional represen- 
tative government, in so far as it finds itself in accord 
with the views of the commanding general, and as it is 
255 


256 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


important that there should be no interruption in the 
duties required by public safety, the various authorities 
remain charged with the care of watching over it.” 

Meanwhile the people were shouting : “ Long live 
Liberty! Long live St. Mark!” Flags were hoisted; 
the image of the patron saint of the republic was carried 
through the streets ; the shops were pillaged ; knives 
were used against the two hundred muskets of the 
soldiers stationed on the Rialto; the prisons of the state 
inquisition were demolished; the Golden Book was 
burned at the foot of a liberty-pole. On the page of the 
Gospel held by the Lion of St. Mark the words Pax 
tibi, Marce, Evangelista meus^ were erased to be 
replaced with : “ Rights of the man and the citizen ;” 

and while a wit exclaimed ; “ The Lion has turned the 
page!” three thousand French soldiers disembarked 
and the destruction of the Venetian government was 
consummated. 

The French in Venice meant the people of 1789 
conquering the ancient aristocracy; Bonaparte’s cor- 
porals fishing from the Rialto; the Grand Canal filled 
with soldiers cleansing themselves from the dust of the 
highways and the grime of powder, the arcades of the 
square of St. Mark serving to shelter sentinels, the 
church transformed into an ordnance magazine. 

General Bonaparte had become Bonaparte, glory 
shortening names. But glory is really joyous only to 
the gods, and Bonaparte knew this. He knew it be- 
cause he had read it more than once in the volume of 
Ossian which he always carried with him, and because, 
amid his ever-increasing triumphs, a thousand anxieties 
assailed him. 

He had vainly conquered more than two hundred thou- 


AT VENICE. 


257 


sand enemies, taken eighty thousand prisoners, captured 
a hundred and seventy flags, five hundred pieces of 
battering ordnance, six hundred field-pieces, five pon- 
toon trains, nine ships, twelve frigates, twelve sloops of 
war, and eighteen galleys. He had vainly said to the 
people of Bologna, Ferrara, Modena, Massa-Carrara, 
Romagna, Lombardy, Bergamo, Mantua, Cremona, 
part of the Veronese, Chiavanna, Boroneo and Valtel- 
lina: “I make you free!” He had vainly inscribed 
upon the Book of History names like those of Mon- 
tenotte, Millesimo, Mondovi, Lodi, Borghetto, Lonato, 
Castiglione, Roveredo, Bassano, Saint-Leonza, Fon- 
tana-Hiva, Caldiera, Areola, Rivoli, Tagliamento, Tar- 
wis and Neumark. 

He had vainly dragged after his triumphal chariot 
the masterpieces of Michael Angelo, Guerchino, Titian, 
Paul Veronese, Correggio, Albani, the Caraccis, Raph- 
ael, and Da Vinci. But it was inevitable that the re- 
sults of this extraordinary campaign should change, 
with the form of the Italian states, the face of European 
affairs. 

Bonaparte had formed several plans in this direction, 
but was stopped at his first step. The Directory could 
strengthen itself only by war, and the idea of seeing the 
war and the revolution end together was alarming to a 
somewhat shady policy. It therefore sent to the 
general-in-chief imperative orders which compelled 
him, instead of consolidating his work as he had in- 
tended, to confine himself to promoting the revolution- 
ary movement in the Peninsula. From the character 
of founder of a state, he was reduced to that of agitator. 

To political cares were added those of a purely private 
nature. 

17 


258 


THE ROMANCE OE THE SWORD. 


His family besieged him, as poor relations assail a 
rich man. He had taken his mother with him, and 
though no longer content with soldiers’ fare, she was as 
avaricious as ever. He had with him also his sisters 
Elisa and Pauline, his brothers Joseph and Louis, lastly 
Eugene de Beauharnais, whom he had made his aide 
de camp. Elisa, who had been captivated by Felix 
Bacchiochi, reproached her brother for not haviug 
enriched himself. Pauline, the wife of his staff -officer 
Leclerq, made fresh demands daily for himself and 
her husband. Joseph, who had married Mademoiselle 
Clary, was barely satisfied with the prospect of starting 
for Rome as ambassador, and Louis was melancholy. 
To complaints at home were added those of absent rela- 
tives. Lucien, military inspector, who had married 
the daughter of his innkeeper, and desired to be a can- 
didate in the Corsican elections, called for funds. 
Jerome, in the college of Juilly, wrote letter after letter, 
explaining his need of additional professors; Caroline 
had fallen in love with the son of an innkeeper at La 
Bastide who had formerly served as a grocer’s boy in 
Saint-Cere. Her excuse was that the innkeeper’s son 
had attained the rank of colonel and bore the name 
of Murat. She desired a dowry in order to hasten her 
marriage day. 

And, besides the insatiable demands of his family, he 
was harassed by the absence of Josephine, for whom he 
had been obliged to send Junot. Josephine, who, after 
having kindled in his heart the flames of love, seemed 
to find pleasure in maintaining only those of jealousy. 
“Oh, I beseech you, show me some of your faults; be 
less beautiful, less gracious, less tender — above all, less 
good ; your tears rob me of my reason, fire my blood. 


AT VENICE. 


259 


Join me, that ere we die we may at least say, we were 
happy so many days !” 

In one of the halls of the Magarotti palace, which he 
had converted into an office, Bonaparte was reviewing 
the incidents of the past, estimating the present, cal- 
culating the possibilities of the future. He was reflect- 
ing upon the implacable logic of events which, having 
made this palace a refuge for King Louis XVIII., 
transformed it into a sort of cantonment for the con- 
queror of Italy. 

His thin face, illumined by the bright summer sun- 
shine, was relieved against a large piece of carved oak 
furniture which, after having contained the laces of 
the Princess Cacchiota, famed by all the poets of the 
period, held plans of attack and reports of spies. 

Raising his head a moment he gazed into space, 
perchance hoping to perceive a sail coming from France, 
when some one knocked at his door, and an orderly 
handed him a letter. 

Bonaparte broke the seal, hastily read the contents, 
and said : 

“Admit her.” 

The door opened to permit the entrance of a woman, 
who was no other than Madame Pichoux, no less pleas- 
ing than ever, though her manner was not so assured 
and her smile was more embarrassed. 

“The mistress of the Three Mile-Stones in Venice! 
What brings you here?” 

“ I’m going to tell you. General,” murmured Madame 
Pichoux with downcast -eyes, twisting a fold of her 
cloak between her Angers. “Since the famous 13th 
Vendemiaire, you have pursued a hard road. You 
have become a hero, you have married, and I don’t 


260 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


know what else. During all this time I said to myself 
daily : ‘Surely General Bonaparte won’t think of coming 
to the Three Mile-Stones ; so if you want to see him, 
you must go where he is.’ Then I set out for Italy. 
I was told that you were in Venice, and here I am !” 

The explanation was too vague for Napoleon not to 
smile at it. 

“ That is true, I am ungrateful ! A good friend like 
you !” 

“ I don’t accuse you of ingratitude ! Now that you 
are a great man, you ought not to he expected to re- 
member everybody. You have enough to do with your 
wars and politics. Only, — what am I to say to you! 
It troubled me that I could no longer see you, even as I 
did on your Wedding-day through Madame de Beau- 
harnais’ windows ” 

“ Ah ! you were ” 

“In the gardens,” Madame Pichoux went on, her 
blushes sufficiently revealing her emotion. “I was 
tired, too, of not being able to show my admiration for 
you except in a crowd. I longed to tell you to your face 
that I considered you the greatest man who ever lived. 
So I left Pichoux in charge of the establishment, and 
came to Italy.” 

“And you did right, Madame Pichoux.” 

“Wait,” she added, beginning to grow bolder; “you 
may suppose that I didn’t come here to say, ‘General, 
don’t stir all day long, so that I can admire you !’ No, 
I wanted to make myself useful. Would you like to 
have me for a cook ?” 

“Why, that’s a capital idea! The Italian cooks 
are poisoners. For cook, companion, and private 
secretary.” 


AT VENICE. 


261 


“There are plenty of titles!” cried Madame Pichoux, 
beaming with joy and completely reassured. 

“ You’ll justify them, I know. Now, what becomes 
of Monsieur Pichoux all this time?” 

“Monsieur Pichoux,” replied Madame Pichoux, so 
completely relieved that she let herself drop into a chair 
as she would have done on the fifth story of the Rue du 
Marais, “ Monsieur Pichoux is a blunderer whose am- 
bition deludes him.” 

“ Isn’t he satisfied with his reputation?” 

“His reputation for what? Keeping a restaurant? 
He wanted to be at least a general or a minister.” 

“ Then that was the reason he shouted so loudly into 
my ears the day of the attack on Saint-Roch?” 

“Ah! you remember him?” 

“ As well as one Caligula, whom I made a captain 
for a few hours. ” 

“ What a memory you have ! Well, General, Caligula 
is with me !” 

“ With you !” 

“ I couldn’t take so long a journey alone.” 

“ And you did not fear that calumny ” 

“With Caligula!” exclaimed Madame Pichoux, 
whose scorn left no doubt concerning the nature of their 
intimacy. “ A worthy fellow, whom I like because he 
would let himself be cut into four pieces for you: 
That’s all.” 

Then, looking Bonaparte straight in the eyes, she 
added : 

“ Ah ! no ! If I had deceived Pichoux ” 

She stopped. Bonaparte had caught her meaning 
and smiled, which disconcerted her to the degree of 
fairly riveting her tongue. 


262 


THE ROMAJTCE OF THE SWORD. 


“Well,” he answered quickly, that he might not take 
advantage of the embarrassment displayed by the mis- 
tress of the Three Mile-Stones, “call Caligula.” 

A few minutes after Caligula entered. Very unlike 
his travelling companion, he had not suffered the least 
anxiety. From Paris to Vienna, he had crossed the 
country like a conqueror. Evidently, Bonaparte had 
counted for something in the conquest, nay, even for 
much, but was not the great victress the Revolution, and 
did not he, with his principles of equality, personify 
this Revolution more than any other person. He had 
maintained the theory everywhere and on all occasions, 
to the driver of the diligence, as well as to the superior 
officer. He would have supported it in the presence of 
the conqueror of Italy. 

“Good-morning, Citizen General,” said Caligula. 

“ Good-morning, Citizen Caligula,” replied Bonaparte, 
amused by the situation. “ I am told that you would 
be cut into four pieces for me.” 

“ Into eight, sixteen, thirty-two ! Because you repre- 
sent the Revolution, which I love.” 

“ In that case, how does it happen that you are not a 
soldier?” 

“ I have already explained my reason. The army has 
nothing but grades of rank. It is contrary to equality.” 

“Yet you accepted a captaincy from me.” 

“ Temporarily.” 

“A plumed captain! You had a large collection of 
feathers.” 

“That my men might see me farther away,” replied 
Caligula, unconsciously paraphrasing the remark of 
Henri IV. 

“And what do you intend to do here?” 


263 


At VENICE. 

“ Instill principles of equality into the minds of the 
Italians, teach them the great precepts of 1789.” 

“The task will give you plenty of work, my lad.” 

“And then, who knows! You may need an intelli- 
gent, devoted fellow, one of those breakneck Parisians 
who sometimes possess audacity where others have only 
courage, genius where they have only obedience.” 

“In that case, I should remember you.” 

“ My fortune is made! Long live Bonaparte! Long 
live the Republic !” 

Bonaparte laid his hand upon Caligula’s shoulder to 
calm his ebullition of feeling, and, turning to Madame 
Pichoux, said: 

“ You haven’t' inquired for your protege.” 

“ I was going to ask directly.” 

“ Robert fought like a brave man at Castiglione and 
like a lion at Rivoli. He is a sergeant in the grena- 
diers, and actually encamped in the ancient palace of 
the Doges. You won’t say that I do things badly? He 
is the stuff of which officers are made. I have only 
one thing with which to reproach him : he is melan- 
choly. The evening of the battle of Saint-Georges, he 
was on guard close by my tent. *As the night grew 
cold, I invited him to drink with his general. We 
began to talk together, and I questioned him about his 
family. I like to know the history of my men. That 
is very natural, since they are making mine. He told 
me that he was an orphan, which I knew, then stopped 
short, as if afraid of saying too much. I pressed him, 
but it was useless, and I myself gave the conversation 
another turn. There is a mystery in this young man’s 
life, a mystery which I should have liked to fathom. 
For a reason ” 


264 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Bonaparte remained silent for several instants, ab- 
sorbed in his train of thought. He again saw Count 
d’Availlac dying after the capture of Toulon. He 
remembered his requests while entrusting to him the 
sword of Henri TV . , the sword actually now in the hands 
of Pichegru. He recalled the story of the son, whom 
he had neglected no means of discovering, yet of whom 
hitherto it had been impossible to find the slightest trace. 
He experienced more than regret, almost remorse, and 
a touch of the anger felt in the presence of an invincible 
obstacle. 

As these memories faded, he raised his head. 

“Madame Pichoux, you can get settled. It is time 
for the courier to arrive. I’ll see you a^ain soon.” 

And, already forgetting both, he wrote : 

“When, free from all anxieties, all business cares, 
shall I be able to spend a few moments with you ; to 
have nothing to do except to love you, nothing to think 
of except the happiness- of telling you so and proving it? 
I thought I loved you several days ago, but since loving 
you I feel that my ardor has increased a thousand-fold. 
Ever since I have known you, I have daily worshipped 
you more and more; this proves the utter falsity of 
Bruyere’s maxim that love comes suddenly. Oh! I 
beseech you, let me see some of your faults, be less 
beautiful, less gracious, less tender, above all, less good. 
Believe that it is no longer in my power to live a day 
which is. not yours or have a thought that is not wholly 
pervaded by you. Come and join me, that before 
dying we can at least say: We were happy so many 
days. 

“ Millions of kisses.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


IN WHICH MADAME PICHOUX’S CURIOSITY SERVES TO 
REVEAL AN ACT OF TREASON. 

Bonaparte had gone out early to preside at one of 
the military festivals of which he was prodigal for the 
purpose of kindling an enthusiasm for war. The cere- 
mony was in memory of the Frenchmen who had died 
during the last campaigns, organized by the care of the 
present conqueror, il conquistatore presente, as the 
authorities addressed him. 

The Magarotti palace was deserted. All the mem- 
bers of the general’s suite had gone to the festival. Only 
one person, Madame Rose Pichoux, had resisted the 
desire to be present. 

What had detained her? The necessity of reflecting 
upon her husband’s last letter in which he told her that 
he would never forgive her absence, never forget the 
sorrow she had inflicted upon him, and added that the 
Directory continued to treat him with the same harsh- 
ness? N’o. The obligation of answering him and 
adding a long postscript for Charlotte, assuring her that 
Robert was still thinking of her and toiling for the 
accomplishment of his most ardent desire: to obtain his 
commission and become her husband? Nor that either. 
The need of watching the preparations for a dinner at 
which, besides the generals, the principal members of 
365 


266 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORt). 


the Venetian nobility would be present? Not even 
that. 

Madame Pichoux was detained by curiosity, curiosity 
more intense than any of the previous attacks to which 
she had yielded. 

Every morning the first thing she did was to enter 
the room of the general~in-chief and ask if he wanted 
anything. It was contrary to etiquette, she knew, but 
it was stronger than her will. She would never succeed 
in measuring the distance which separated the general- 
in-chief of the army of Italy from the general in dis- 
grace, lodging in the house in the Rue des Marais. 
Bonaparte had been the first to smile at it, and repeated 
the order that she should be allowed to go wherever she 
chose. During these daily visits she had had time to 
ferret about everywhere, and her eyes had lingered upon 
a small piece of furniture in the Italian style, where the 
general kept his private letters. Not that she desired to 
know political or military secrets ; only among these pri- 
vate letters there must be some from Madame Bonaparte, 
and she would have given a year of her life to learn the 
excuses she had invented for remaining in Paris. 

She had noticed — does an inquisitive woman permit 
anything to escape her? — that the top of the little piece 
of furniture was movable, and that, by raising it, the 
two upper drawers, which particularly interested her, 
would be revealed. From that moment she resolved to 
let no opportunity of examining it escape. But would 
she ever obtain it? It would be necessary to have the 
general’s staff absent, and the servants summoned out 
of doors by an exceptional circumstance. This circum- 
stance had occurred ; General Bonaparte had desired his 
entire household to attend the funeral ceremonies. 


MADAME PICHOUX’S CURIOSITY. 


267 


At the hour that General Bonaparte received the 
officers of the Battalion of Hope, crowned with cypress, 
while they were performing the funeral rite, and the 
singers were chanting the stanza which can still be read, 
engraved upon a stone in the square of the Doges — 

La sacra tomba spargasi 
Di lagrime e di fieri. 

Ogor cosi la onori 
La piu lontana eta — 

Madame Pichoux entered the room and went toward 
the piece of furniture, where, mounted on a chair, she 
commenced operations. Steps echoed near and, turn- 
ing hastily, she saw Caligula, followed by Sergeant 
Robert. 

“ How did you manage to get here?” she asked, blush- 
ing at having been caught in this position. 

“In the simplest way possible,” replied Caligula. 
“We simply had to pass through open doors.” 

“So you didn’t go to the festival?” 

“As you can perceive, Citizeness Pichoux.” 

“And you. Monsieur Robert?” 

“ My regiment is on guard at the port, and I obtained 
a few hours’ leave. ” 

“ In that case, is what you have to say to me very 
urgent?” 

“As urgent as possible, Citizeness,” replied Caligula. 
“ I am to fight a duel directly.” 

“A duel! With whom?” 

“With a great nobleman.” 

“ Holy Jesus ! Tell me about it !” 

“Listen then.” 

Caligula sat down in an armchair, and crossing his 


•268 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


legs with the ease of a man who feels entirely at home, 
began : 

“Ever since my arrival in Venice I have been 
humiliated. Everywhere I heard tales of battles in 
which I had no share, victories at which I was not 
present. Moreover the Italians, having no respect for 
any one except their conquerors, show the utmost con- 
tempt for everybody who does not wear a uniform. 
Having resolved to place the condition of affairs upon 
a footing of genuine equality, I went to walk this morn- 
ing on the Rialto, waiting for some insolent fellow, 
when he presented himself in the person of a young man 
who, from his appearance, I speedily believed to be a 
member of the nobility. I went forward to meet him 
and he stopped, evidently expecting me to make way. 
I did nothing of the sort. He ventured an offensive 
remark. * I answered with a few well-chosen words. 
He raised his hand; I raised mine. He called me im- 
pertinent; I called him a fool. He said that he was the 
Baron Riboglioni. I said that my name was Caligula. 
He drew his sword. I showed him that I did not have 
mine. In short, we are to meet at three o’clock. The 
sergeant consents to act as my second, with one of his 
comrades. I have come to borrow three crowns in 
order to maintain my rank properly as a French 
citizen.” 

“But you don’t know how to use a sword.” 

“ When one fights for liberty, equality, and fraternity 
one feels sure of one’s self. My antagonist will soon lie 
dead on the ground, or I’m a simpleton. How, having 
the firm conviction that the Supreme Being has given 
me as much intelligence as a Venetian baron, my man’s 
affair is settled. I’ll return you the three crowns at 


MADAME PICHOUX’S CURIOSITY. 


269 


the end of the week, having invented something which 
will certainly supply my needs : macaroni a la fran- 
gaise.^^ 

“Crazy fellow I Wait, there are your three crowns. 
Go, and may fortune favor you !” 

Madame Pichoux watched him depart. Caligula’s 
story troubled her, and in the anxiety of her kind heart 
she remained a long time absorbed by the thought of a 
meeting whose issue, spite of Caligula’s confidence, 
might be fatal. She was already reproaching herself 
for having brought him to Venice with her, when, 
having turned her head in the direction of the little 
piece of furniture, curiosity gained, the mastery over 
every other feeling. She turned the key in the door, 
mounted the chair again, and prepared to lift the top. 
A weight resisted. She groped for it, felt an iron box, 
raised it, made an awkward movement, and fell with 
the little coffer, which opened, scattering numerous 
sheets of paper over the floor. 

Their appearance indicated that they were not private 
letters. Each page was surmounted by three fleurs-de- 
lys. She picked up several and tried in vain to decipher 
them. If her vexation was deep at being unable to 
gratify a curiosity still more excited by an unexpected 
obstacle, her fear of having laid hands upon some cor- 
respondence relating to republican affairs was greater 
still. Having learned, like everybody else, the royal 
intrigues of which the people of Paris had been kept 
informed by the newspapers and lampoons, she was not 
ignorant that the man who bore the title of Louis 
XVIII. had passed through Verona and Venice, 
whence he maintained communications with the agency 
of the Duverne de Presles, Abbe Brossier, Chevalier 


270 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Despomelles, and the two brothers Lemaitre. The 
newspapers and lampoons had made no allusion to this, 
but Pichoux, who was a royalist at that time, had in- 
formed her. 

Then a doubt arose in her mind. Should she put the 
box back in its place or tell the general of her discovery? 
Pier duty as a patriot compelled the latter decision. Ma- 
dame Pichoux carried the box into her room to await 
the arrival of the general, which must take place soon. 

After a rain of flowers and little leaflets printed in 
the tricolors, on which were verses adapted to the occa- 
sion ; after a patriotic banquet offered to the wounded 
soldiers, the festival, which seemed like a page torn 
from the annals of Pagan mythology, ended, and 
General Bonaparte returned to the palace, followed by 
his staff, when Madame Pichoux, availing herself of 
her privilege of entering at any hour, requested the 
general’s permission to tell him some important news. 

“Important news?” asked Bonaparte. “What im- 
portant news can Madame Pichoux have for me?” 

“ You shall judge of its weight yourself, when I have 
told you,” she murmured. 

“I will listen then,” he answered, drawing her into a 
window niche. 

“ This is it. While you were at the festival, I took 
the liberty of coming here.” 

“ For what purpose?” 

“To see that everything was in order.” 

“ Do you think you are still in the Rue des Marais, 
Madame Pichoux?” 

Then as she remained silent in her embarrassment, 
he added : “ I’ll wager that there was more curiosity 

than neatness in this solicitude.” 


MADAME PICHOUX’S CURIOSITY, 


271 


“There was whatever you choose, General. To be 
sure that there was no dust on the furniture I went 
to that piece and, while passing my fingers along 
the front, I felt something cold and took the article 
out. It was this box, which opened as it fell. Here 
it is. I will let you judge the importance of its con- 
tents. 

Bonaparte gazed at Madame Pichoux for some time, 
and amused himself by pinching the end of her nose till 
she uttered a little cry of pain. Then placing the box 
on the table he opened it, took out the papers, and 
paused in amazement. 

He had seen papers belonging to the king too often 
to be mistaken. It was the same stationery, the same 
headings, the same characters. He consulted all the 
keys at his disposal: not one corresponded. So the 
language used was special, and therefore these papers 
were documents of unusual importance. In that case, 
how had they been forgotten? He remembered the 
haste with which Monsieur must have left the Vene- 
tian States at the approach of the regiments which had 
just signalized their entrance into Italy by the victories 
of Montenotte, Millesimo, and Mondovi. The Venetian 
government, afraid of incurring the conqueror’s anger 
by sheltering longer within its frontiers the chief of the 
emigrants, had commissioned Senator Carlotti to trans- 
mit to him the order to leave the territory of the 
republic immediately. Monsieur had not had twelve 
hours to set out for Brisgau and the Prince de Conde’s 
headquarters. 

“I thank you, Madame Pichoux. This is not the 
first service I owe you. Perhaps it may prove the 
greatest of all. ” 


272 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Madame Pichoux, having been forgiven, was about 
to relate Caligula’s adventure to the general, but Bona- 
parte had already signed to his staff to approach and 
was informing them of the discovery. Madame Pichoux 
could do nothing but retire. 

None of the officers met with any better success in 
reading the papers than the general. 

The greater the seeming impossibility became, the 
more Bonaparte felt the importance of the documents. 
Like a man accustomed to have nothing resist him, he 
took sheet after sheet as if, by the mere effort of his 
will, the letters would fall into the proper order and the 
enigma stand revealed. 

Rage at his own powerlessness was already breaking 
forth, when sounds from the street reached him. 

“What is it?” 

“ Some of the populace following and threatening two 
of our sergeants. There is a civilian with them.” 

“ If they touch my soldiers. I’ll have them shot.” 

He had risen and rushed to the window. 

“One of the sergeants is Sergeant Robert. The 
civilian is Caligula. Send four men to rescue them 
and bring them here.” 

Bonaparte was pacing up and down, swearing in the 
Italian language, as infuriated by the rebellion of the 
Venetians who dared to threaten his soldiers as by the 
resistance of the letters which persisted in keeping the 
secret of their combination. The door opened, the two 
sergeants and Caligula appeared. 

“What has happened? Speak, Caligula.” 

“ Citizen General, the crowd is threatening me be- 
cause I have just killed an aristocrat.” 

“ Killed an aristocrat !” 


MADAME PICHOUX’S CURIOSITY. 


273 


“Oh, Citizen General, in a duel! Sergeant Robert 
and his comrade were my seconds.” 

“ Duels are only for soldiers.” 

“Citizen General, you forget that I have been a 
captain, and that there was hot work on the 13th Ven- 
demiaire.” 

The answer was so unexpected, and the manner in 
which it was made was so comical, that Bonaparte’s 
suite found it difficult to repress a smile. 

“And what was the cause of this duel?” 

“A braggart who seemed to be making sport of 
Frenchmen. I gave him a sword-thrust through the 
breast and he fell, crying: ‘Long live the king!’” 

“What is his name?” 

“ Baron de Riboglioni.” 

“ Impossible.” 

“Do you know him, Citizen General?” 

“Baron Riboglioni has been described to me as acting 
as agent between Count d’Entraigues and Monsieur.” 

“ And you inferred from that that he would not allow 
himself to be cut open by Citizen Caligula, a journey- 
man printer, distributor of the Postilion, and a thou- 
sand other trades, thanks to his imaginative faculties? 
Answer, Citizen Sergeant.” 

“An excellent sword- thrust. General,” said Robert, 
“which pierced coat and breast, after first passing 
through this book, which I picked up on the ground 
when they had carried the body away.” 

Bonaparte mechanically took the book and opened it. 

The morocco covers contained two pages on which 
an alphabet was printed. The general recognized it as 
one of those arranged to serve either for writing in 
cipher or for reading secret dispatches. 

18 


274 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Impelled by one of those premonitions which ruled 
his destiny, he again took up the sheets of paper dis- 
covered by Madame Pichoux and experimented with 
the alphabet. 

The words became translatable, the phrases clear. 
At that moment every eye rested intently upon him, for 
the pallor of his face, the nervous twitching of his eyes 
and mouth, showed that he was a prey to painful 
emotion. 

After a secret struggle, evinced by livid pallor, Bona- 
parte sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands, 
murmuring : 

“Oh, Pichegru, Pichegru!” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


“SCRIPTA MANENT.” 

The very day on which occurred the events related 
in the last chapter, Junot left Paris without having 
been able to persuade Citizeness Bonaparte to accom- 
pany him. 

At first she had hesitated to join him, for reasons 
already known to us; afterward a decisive one was 
added : if Bonaparte had conquered in Italy, Monsieur 
Charles was decidedly victorious in Paris. 

In vain Junot had pleaded his general’s cause; in 
vain Gohier, the future president of the directory, 
scandalized by the flirtation, had lavished advice upon 
her ; in vain the conquering general had multiplied the 
proofs of his love; all was useless. The evening of the 
day on which Paris, in the exaltation of her patriotism, 
cheered the flags conquered by the general-in-chief of 
the army of Italy, the widow of Viscount de Beau- 
harnais betrayed her glorious husband. 

Meanwhile one man was watching — Samuel. 

Pursuing his purpose of regaining possession of the 
sword of Henri IV. , we have seen him forming connec- 
tions with Citizeness Bonaparte, advancing money to 
her, selling her jewels on credit with the intention, at 
some future day, of confronting the husband with the 
necessity of paying his wife’s debts and thus forcing 
him to give up his talisman. 

275 


276 


THE KOMAHCE OE THE SWORD. 


Machiavellian as the plan had been, it was neverthe- 
less subject to circumstances. Samuel remembered the 
day when, mingling with the crowd outside the window 
of the house in the Rue Chantereine to witness General 
Bonaparte’s marriage, he had not only seen the latter 
entrust the coveted sword to Pichegru, but recognized 
the diamond which had ornamented its hilt upon the 
neck of the ex- Viscountess de Beauharnais. 

From that evening, he perceived that, like the talis- 
man, his mission was divided into two portions, and, 
while waiting for the sword, supposed to be safe in 
Pichegru’s hands, it was' needful to obtain possession 
of the jewel. 

Samuel managed his debtors in much the same man- 
ner as Napoleon dealt with the enemy. He began by 
studying their positions, neglecting no means of obtain- 
ing information about them. The day when he ascer- 
tained that Citizeness Bonaparte had nothing to refuse 
Monsieur Charles., embracing at a glance the whole 
advantage to be derived from the situation, estimating 
the profit to be had from a secret which, though a trifle 
like Punch’s, nevertheless possessed undeniable worth, 
he rubbed his hands, murmuring: 

“ I hold the husband by the wife : I hold the wife by 
the lover.” 

From that moment he not only denied Monsieur 
Charles no request, but he anticipated his wishes. The 
thought that he was the lover of the wife of the most 
prominent man in France imposing upon Monsieur 
Charles, in his own eyes, the necessity of being the 
most elegant man in the republic, he became the most 
conspicuous personage in the capital, wore uniforms 
fantastic enough to make Murat turn pale with jealousy. 


SClilPTA MANEKT. ” 


277 


rode valuable horses, displayed his graces of manner in 
boxes at the theatre or risked rolls of gold at the faro 
table. As all this was expensive, and the Royalist 
party supported only the principal chiefs of the Black 
Cross in handsome style, our muscadin often found it 
necessary to resort to the good offices of the Jew, so 
often that ere long he had placed himself entirely in his 
power. 

This was the moment for which Samuel had waited 
to realize the first part of a plot which only a Jewish 
usurer could have planned and attempted to execute. 

It was ten o’clock in the morning when he called 
upon Monsieur Charles, who had apartments on the 
second floor of a house in the Faubourg Saint-Honore. 
He was seated before a dressing-table loaded with 
bottles of all sorts, pomades of various kinds, brushes 
of every size and description, scissors, flies, curling 
irons, and the thousand and one articles seen in the 
chamber of a flirt. At the end of the room, spread out 
upon some chairs, glittered a Hussar uniform, which he 
was to wear that day, while on the promenade. 

At the sight of Samuel, Monsieur Charles, without 
making the slightest movement lest he should arrest the 
inspiration of his valet, who was arranging his hair, 
murmured : 

“ Sit down. What good wind blows you here?” 

“ The necessity of having a few minutes’ conversa- 
tion.” 

“ On important matters?” 

“Very important.” 

“ So much the worse. ” 

“Why?” 

“ Because, my dear Samuel, this morning my head is 


278 


THE KOMAKCE OF THE SWORD. 


literally stuffed. You shall judge for yourself whether 
I have reason to be preoccupied — Cato, you are pulling 
my hair! — I beg your pardon, my dear Samuel, but 
Cato is a new valet who has vowed to kill me with 
vexation. Where was I? Oh, I was going to make 
you the judge of my occupations. After breakfast, 
a ride to try a horse which Gaultier has just sent me : a 
dark bay that will do me great credit. On returning 
home, a change of dress and a call at the Rue Chante- 
reine. Madame Bonaparte wishes to consult me about 
a new fashion : the mantelet a la Rivoli. Our dress- 
makers themselves incline to military styles. The 
mantelet a la Rivoli is made — but you know nothing 
about such things — Cato, no more bergamot, it’s out of 
date; essence of lily. The patriots detect it fifteen 
paces off and are enraged. My call over, return home 
again, change my costume and paj’ a visit to Madame 
de la Farre, who has just arrived from Vienna. She 
is an intimate friend of Madame de Stael, who, pretend- 
ing to forget the watch kept upon her at Coppet, is 
suddenly seized with admiration for Bonaparte, which 
she carries to the point of sending him enthusiastic 
letters. I suspect her of wishing to supplant the ex- 
Viscountess de Beauharnais in the affections of the 
conqueror. Madame de la Farre ought to have a thou- 
sand items on this subject to give me, with which I 
shall entertain Royalist drawing-rooms for the next fort- 
night— less powder, Cato!— On leaving Madame de la 
Farre, I shall return to the Faubourg Saint-Honore and 
make another change of dress, putting on my new 
uniform, a masterpiece of Delamare’s; you can’t judge 
as it lies there, but it fits my figure as a glove fits the 
hand. Next comes a dinner at a cousin of Monsieur 


SCRIPT A MAN ENT. 


279 


d’Entraigues, a semi -gallant, semi-political affair, one of 
those dinners where people conspire between two kisses. 
After this entertainment, I go to the Opera House to 
see a new ballet introduced into Gluck’s ‘Iphigenie.’ 
Finally, when this performance is over — Cato, attend 
to my nails — when this performance is over, an appoint- 
ment with — well, that concerns nobody except my- 
self. And you want me to listen to you, Samuel, when 
in order to keep track of so many things, I must collect 
my thoughts and classify them that I may not be hope- 
lessly muddled. Unless you were actually determined 
to offer me money. In that case ” 

“ On the contrary, I have come to ask you for it.” 

“ Cato, you hear that ! Monsieur Samuel has come 
to ask me for money!” And, turning to see the Jew, 
he added : “You are in a jesting mood this morning.” 

“ My dear Monsieur Charles, at the present time you 
owe me nearly a hundred thousand francs for which I 
hold your receipts.” 

“Then why do you complain?” 

“ I am speaking seriously.” 

“Ho. A creditor who demands money from a man 
who has none is not speaking seriously.” 

“So seriously that, if necessary, I should become 
indignant.” 

“That’s another matter. Cato, I have no further 
need of your services. Leave me alone with Monsieur 
Samuel.” 

Monsieur Charles was in riding costume. He took a 
bottle, sprinkled some of its contents over his person, 
sat down beside the Jew and, slapping his thighs, said : 

“ Be indignant then ! I should be rather glad to see 
you angry ! But I know you : you won’t be indignant, 


280 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


you won’t call on me for the hundred thousand francs, 
and to prove your good will, on the contrary, you will 
advance twenty-five thousand more.” 

“ Why not fifty?” 

“You are right. I dared not ask, for prudential 
reasons. You will advance me fifty thousand more.” 

“To be utterly ruined?” 

“No. I’ll repay them.” 

“When?” 

“Before the end of the week.” 

Samuel looked Monsieur Charles in the eyes a few 
seconds, pretending to read his conscience. Unable to 
understand that a man like the Jew calculated every 
act, even the slightest movement, he imagined that he 
was hesitating, and urged : 

“ Before the end of a week, I tell you. What security 
do you want?” 

“What security can you offer? The rooms you 
occupy are the property of another person, most of 
the furniture does not belong to you. Unless we 
should invent something in the nature of a moral 
guarantee ” 

“ What sort of a moral guarantee?” 

“ I really know of one. ” 

“ Tell me what it is. ” 

“No. You would refuse.” 

“ I’m curious to know what I should be able to re- 
fuse when the matter in question is fifty thousand 
francs.” 

“ Listen then : you are on the best possible footing 
with Citizeness Bonaparte?” 

“ What do you mean?” 

“ Whatever you wish me to mean.” 


SCRIPTA MANENT.” 


281 


“Go on.” 

“ You ought not to be unaware that the matter has 
become almost public?” 

“ Ah !” murmured Monsieur Charles, with the satis- 
faction of a fop who learns that his acts have been 
noised abroad. 

“ Your relations have not been established solely by a 
few chance words or even familiar talks. You have 
exchanged letters?” 

“ What the devil are you driving at?” 

“ First answer me.” 

“ Evidently.” 

“ I don’t know whether she has kept yours, but I am 
certain that you haven’t burned hers.” 

“ What gives you that certainty. Monsieur Samuel?” 

“ When a man has made a conquest as glorious as 
yours over the wife of the general-in-chief of the Army 
of Italy, he doesn’t amuse himself by destroying the 
proofs of it.” 

“Do you think so?” 

“ Especially when this general-in-chief is a political 
enemy. ” 

“That is the sole reason which induced me not 
to throw Madame Bonaparte’s love-letters into the 
fire. ” 

“ I am sure of it,” replied Samuel, trying to conceal a 
smile. “Well! trust these letters to me in a sealed 
package. If you pay the fifty thousand francs within 
a week, I will return the letters ; if not, I will keep them 
and release you from all obligations. ” 

“And you would pay the money down?” 

“ At once. I have it with me.” 

It was Monsieur Charles’ turn to look Samuel in- 


282 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


tently in the eye. Corrupt as he might be, he was 
aware of the infamy of such an exchange, the more so 
as he knew that, at the end of the week, it would be 
impossible for him to return the sum and thus regain 
possession of the letters. A remnant of decency 
prompted him to give up the bargain, when a sudden 
revulsion took place in his mind. Like every man in 
whom a base action, instead of arousing a decided re- 
volt, awakens only uncertainty, he had found a way to 
commit and at the same time excuse it. If Samuel ever 
utilized the letters, the ridicule would fall solely on 
General Bonaparte, that is, the effective chief of the 
Republican party. By compromising a woman, he 
acted in an unhandsome manner; but in throwing dis- 
credit upon the republic, he served a whole party. 
Nothing more was required to bring him to a 
decision. 

“ I accept the proposition. Give me the fifty thou- 
sand francs.” 

“ Permit me to wait for the letters.” 

Monsieur Charles went into the next room, opened a 
desk, took out a package tied with a pink cord, wrapped 
it in a paper which he sealed at both ends — a precau- 
tion, however, that he deemed useless — and returning 
to the apartment where Samuel was waiting, handed 
it to him. 

When the latter had delivered the sum of money, he 
took leave of his host and leaped rather than walked 
downstairs. Joy gave him fresh strength. 

“ The fool,” he muttered, when he reached the bottom. 
“ He didn’t understand ! I have the jewel ! The jewel 
of Bonaparte, Count d’Availlac, Monsieur, Queen 
Catharine, and King Henri TV . ! May the God of my 


SCEIPTA MANENT. 


283 


ii' 


Fathers bless this day ! I wouldn’t exchange it for half 
a million !” 

And as he turned the corner of the street, Monsieur 
Charles was making his horse paw the ground, that 
the women might come to the windows and admire him 
before he galloped off. 


CHAPTER IX. 


GRANDFATHER AND GRANDSON. 

The Prince de Conde had passed a sleepless night. 

Every moment, interrupting his work, he went to 
the door of his room, fancying he heard footsteps. 

For a long weary week he had maintained this watch 
in his anxiety to see Saint-Rejant return, and learn 
whether Pichegru had consented to exchange Bona- 
parte’s sword for the letter. 

Darkness having disappeared before the soft rosy 
light of dawn, the prince, exhausted by watching, fell 
asleep, when he was suddenly roused. 

The door had just opened, admitting a young man 
apparently twenty-five years old. 

An observer, by scanning his face,' might have 
evoked the whole past life of this young existence. 

Born in the chateau of Chantilly at the period when 
Louis XV. was sinking into contempt, reared until he 
reached the age of five by the Viscountess de Nesles, 
then entrusted to the care of Count de Virieu, who was 
killed by a cannon-ball at the siege of Lyons, to the 
Abbe Millot for the direction of his education, to Mon- 
sieur de Sancobert, who had the charge of developing 
his taste for the art of war and making him a bold 
horseman, he possessed all the attractions of his 
governess, all the attainments of his tutor, all the 
decision of his master in the art of warfare. Later 
284 


GRANDFATHER AND GRANDSON. 


285 


the initiation into the emotions of the battle-field by 
Louis Joseph de Conde, in Flanders, in the camp of 
Saint-Omer, where everything spoke of the exploits and 
heroism of his ancestor, was to impress upon his brow 
the lines of courage and will. 

The melancholy expression of his features was due to 
the events which followed the dread of the ever-increas- 
ing fury of the Revolution; his separation from a 
mother who, though good and affable, became a victim 
to an exalted mysticism to such a degree that she left 
her own family for Catherine Theot, Dom Gerbe, and 
the pseudo-prophetess Suzanne Labrousse; and to the 
obligation imposed upon him by Conde and Count 
d’Artois to fight against his countrymen. 

The Duke d’ Enghien — for it was he — rushed into the 
arms of the prince. 

The eagerness with which the latter pressed the new- 
comer to his breast, embracing him again and again, 
plainly showed the affection which united the grand- 
father to the grandson, the old man to the young one. 

“ I see you once more ! I have you again ! Ah, my 
dear child, how many secret tears we must shed to 
make men, soldiers of you! The anxieties of separa- 
tion, the perils of camp life, the dangers of battle-fields ! 
And some persons envy us ! As if it- were not more 
difficult to make a son a glorious prince than to teach 
him to become merely a citizen !” 

“When this grandson has only heroes in his family.” 

“Heroes! You see whither our heroism has led us; 
what mere love of our native land requires.” 

“ To take arms against France !” 

“ Say rather against her foes.” 

“Alas! Her foes are still Frenchmen.” 


286 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“No! They are traitors! Traitors whom we must 
punish! But we must punish them without the aid 
of Austria and England. The hour has perhaps 
arrived.” 

“ Pichegru?” 

“Not so loud! Pichegru has made conditions. See 
to what these new governments force us to descend. I 
was obliged to accept them almost completely, but re- 
quested him to give me a pledge in return for the one 
he dared to claim ” 

“ And the pledge ” 

“ The sword which Monsieur ” 

“ I know. You told me the story several years ago ! 
Ah, that sword ! If I held it in my hand, what a path 
I would cut to the very heart of France, and what pride 
I should feel in restoring it myself to the king, in the 
presence of all our partisans !” 

Prince de Conde gazed at him. 

The Duke d’Enghein was strikingly handsome in his 
youthful enthusiasm. His brow was radiant with the 
pride of his race, and his eyes sparkled with the ardor 
of his soul. He was smiling at the vision of a possible 
future, confident, like all who are young and brave. 

The prince made him sit down by his side and relate 
all that he had done during their separation. The duke 
narrated his campaigns, down to the smallest details, 
and when he had finished the prince said : 

“ So much for the soldier. Let us pass on to the man. 
What of the heart?” 

The duke bowed his head. 

“Yes,” murmured Prince de Conde, “you have the 
modesty of your love. But, as it is my duty to know 
even your smallest conquests, I am aware of everything, 


GRANDFATHER AND GRANDSON. 


287 


everything. So I shall not hesitate to say to you what 
my age, my experience and, if you will, my superstition 
dictates. Beware ! There are women who bring mis- 
fortune.” 

“ Monseigneur !” 

“ Ah, I become your seigneur ^ now that I no longer 
laugh, and begin to talk sensibly. Listen. The first 
time I saw her I had a presentiment of evil. In our 
family, they never deceive, do you understand? Never ! 
Remember what I now say to you, consider that you 
are the hope of a whole race and, if you can, make your 
heart submit to reason. Having said this, I shall never 
allude to the matter again. I do not wish you to regard 
me as a fault-finder, but a grandfather who sees in his 
grandson the embodiment of all his vanity and all his 
hopes. Some one is coming !” 

Hasty steps were heard. 

“ It’s Saint-Rejant.” 

“ He himself. Monseigneur,” said the latter, rushing 
in. “First, here is the sword! Then, permit me to 
sit down. There are exertions which exceed human 
endurance. ” 

Saint-Rejant was covered with dust and sweat. 
Sinking into an armchair, his head fell back and for a 
moment he lost consciousness. His fainting fit was 
noticed neither by the Duke d’Enghien nor his grand- 
father. Prince de Conde had grasped the weapon and 
tried to turn its point toward France. Suddenly his 
face grew pale and gloomy. For the first time he per- 
ceived that the weight of a sword was too great and 
that his arm trembled. 

Then turning to his grandson who was gazing eagerly 
at the weapon, he said : 


288 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“You see that you are my sole hope; since I am old 
enough to find a sword like this heavy !” 

He placed it on a table, and then remembered Saint- 
Rejant, who was just opening his eyes. 

“Pardon me, Monseigneur, and you also. Monsieur 
le Due, but I was obliged to make up for lost time.” 

“ Were you molested on the way?” 

“ I’ve had the sword stolen from me.” 

“ Speak quickly.” 

“ Here is the story. Pichegru had just given it to 
me with this letter, and I was returning from Riegel, 
when, at the entrance of a little village called Stauberg, 
two leagues from Huningue, I was attacked by five men 
on horseback. I spurred my own nag, which slipped 
and fell. I was seized, gagged, and taken to a deserted 
house, where the five men set me at liberty and formed 
a court of justice. The first man, the one who had 
seized the sword, asked the cause of my presence among 
the Republican troops. I informed him that I was serv- 
ing General Pichegru as a spy and showed a safe-conduct 
dated at Huningue. He looked at it and said to his 
four companions : ‘Another proof of Pichegru ’s treach- 
ery. ’ I pretended not to understand. He added : ‘Your 
name is Saint Re j ant. You are one of the conspirators 
of the Black Cross. You have been seen in London and 
at Quiberon. Come, don’t lie!’ I confessed my iden- 
tity, but persisted in trying to make them believe that 
my intercourse with the members of the Black Cross, 
my journeys to London, my presence at Quiberon, were 
solely to obtain news of the Royalists by which the Re- 
publicans might profit. ‘You lie,’ retorted the man. 
‘Pichegru is not a Republican. Pichegru is a traitor. 
General Bonaparte has furnished the Directory with 


GRANDFATHEK AKD GRANDSON^. 


289 


proofs of it which he found in Venice among some 
papers that had been forgotten by the man who dares 
to call himself Louis XVIII.’” 

“M;. d’Entraigues’ correspondence!” exclaimed the 
prince. 

“ I thought it was written in cipher,” said the Duke 
d’Enghien. 

“ Bonaparte is the devil !” murmured Saint-Rejant. 

“Pichegru is discovered. Huningue escapes us!’ 
added the prince. “Go on, Saint-Rejant.” 

“ In the presence of this revelation, I made myself as 
stolid as I could in order not to show my emotion, and 
said coolly: ‘Pichegrua traitor, impossible! Take me 
to him. He is general-in-chief.’ ‘He bears that title 
no longer !’ interrupted the man. ‘Since when?’ ‘Since 
the day the Directory voted his recall, which we are 
ordered to take to him.’ 

“ Utterly lost!” murmured Prince de Conde. “This 
is the result of his hesitation. By trying to gain everj^- 
thing, he has allowed everything to escape ! These Re- 
publicans will die of indigestion !” 

Silence followed. 

Prince de Conde had sunk into a chair near the table, 
measuring with fixed eyes the abyss that opened before 
him. What a gulf ! He saw in imagination his army, 
which had so long impatiently longed for action. He 
thought of the ridicule bestowed upon an abortive mili- 
tarj^ conspiracy; the injury which this failure would do 
the cause. 

The Duke d’Enghein was handling the sword as if, 
with his zeal doubled by the catastrophe, he, too, was 
making the weapon a talisman. 

“Go on, Saint-Rejant,” murmured the prince. 

19 


290 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“ I was utterly confounded. In spite of my agitation, 
I faced the situation. I said to myself that as Pichegru 
was relieved of his command a few minutes after my 
departure, the agreement for the present was forfeited ; 
but the sword remained, the sword of which a man had 
gained possession by disarming me, the sword which 
must be recovered at any cost. I wondered what they 
meant to do with me. One proposed to blow my brains 
out, another suggested confronting me with Pichegru to 
confound him. The latter counsel was followed. I 
gained time. I asked if they would permit me to accom- 
pany them on horseback ; they consented. I mounted. 
In half an hour night closed in. I gave the man who 
had the sword a dagger-thrust so skilfully dealt that he 
did not utter a cry, seized my prize, and set spurs to my 
horse. They pursued. I urged on my beast till he 
went like lightning, and outstripped them so far that 
they were discouraged. You know the rest. Mon- 
seigneur !” 

Prince de Conde was no longer listening. The anxiety 
caused by these events had again conquered his interest 
in the narrative. He had relapsed into his revery. At 
last, rousing himself a second time, he said ; 

“You have performed impossibilities, and I thank 
you for it. God imposes too many trials upon us not 
to reserve a reward worthy of our efforts. When you 
have rested, return to Paris, where some new surprise 
is doubtless in store for us. Conceal yourself there and, 
in the darkness, continue to work for the good cause.” 

“Monseigneur,” replied Saint-Rejant, whose little 
tigerish eyes glittered with an evil light, “we shall de- 
stroy the venom only b}" killing the beast. The beast is 
Bonaparte. Farewell, and pray for me.” 


GKANDFATHER AND GRANDSON. 


291 


He straightened himself, swelled his muscles, shook 
his round head shaped like a wild beast’s, and, clench- 
ing his teeth with rage, bowed twice, and left the room. 

When the sound of his footsteps had died away, the 
Prince of Conde took the sword and, giving it to his 
grandson, said: 

“You will grasp it more firmly than I. Restore it to 
the king when you have conquered for him !” 

And while the Duke d’Enghein bent the knee to re- 
ceive this final proof of his grandfather’s confidence, 
Prince de Conde called to witness the God who, hither- 
to, had directed him in battle. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE PRICE OF A JEWEL. 

Events had succeeded each other with the rapidity 
which marks them in hours of great crises. Pichegru, 
deprived of his rank, returned to his birthplace, the 
Jura, determined to join the Royalists in France and 
create a party for himself. He succeeded so far as to 
compel the measure of the 18th Fructidor, the Directory, 
thanks to Bonaparte’s advice and Augereau’s vigor, 
having conquered the factions, seized the principal 
members, among them the ex-general-in-chief of the 
army of the Sambre and Meuse, and banished them to 
Guiana. Moreau, convicted of having been aware of 
Pichegru’s treachery, was disgraced. Hoche was dead. 
The Emperor of Austria had been compelled to sign the 
treaty of Campo-Formio. France had obtained her 
natural frontiers. A new State was founded in Italy 
upon the ruins of a despotic aristocracy. Bonaparte 
had toiled enough for France. He could return to his 
home in the Rue Chantereine, and press his Josephine 
to his heart. 

The news of the return of the hero of Italy was 
greeted with such universal applause that the Directory 
questioned whether the fame of the former commandant 
of the battery of the Tatterdemalions might not give 
umbrage to the slender popularity of the new Consuls. 

Madame Bonaparte and Monsieur Charles did not 
293 


THE PRICE OF A JEWEL. 


293 


share the satisfaction of those who rejoiced in the an- 
ticipation of seeing the most glorious citizen of France. 
They were accustomed to love each other without re- 
straint or reserve. Besides, it imposed upon her the ob- 
ligation of resuming her position as a wife, while she 
cared only for the privileges which this position might 
secure. 

The situation did not escape the notice of Samuel, 
who had become a more and more frequent visitor_at 
the house in the Rue Chantereine. He had watched all 
the incidents of the intimacy, with the care of a man 
capable of profiting by it, and he had profited so well 
that at this time, besides possessing the compromising 
letters of the Citizeness Bonaparte, she owed him three 
hundred and fifty thousand francs. 

As Bonaparte was coming, the hour for striking the 
great blow had arrived. The general had gathered his 
laurels, the usurer must garner his profits. 

That day Samuel did not ring the door-bell with his 
usual timidity. The sound was sharp, almost authori- 
tative. Louise Compoint, absorbed in reading the 
Moniteur, started in her chair, and Madame Bonaparte 
thought that it was her husband, who had returned 
sooner than he was expected. Samuel asked to see 
Madame Bonaparte in a tone which did not escape the 
notice of the maid, though she was usually familiar. 
Finally, when he was shown in, he made himself at 
home, like a man who has determined to speak his mind 
boldly. 

Madame Bonaparte did not perceive it. Besides, her 
thoughts were elsewhere. The evening before, at Mme. 
Tallien’s, there had been a great deal said about a cer- 
tain toilette introduced by Madame de Stael, and this toi- 


294 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


lette troubled her. Samuel did not doubt that the im- 
portance of his communication would soon recall her 
attention, and made no delay in testing the fact. 

“ Madame,” he began, “ there is a time for everything, 
even serious matters. It is an affair of this kind which 
brings me here.” 

“ A new set of jewels?” 

“ No. It concerns certain little accounts.” 

“Don’t you know that the general is on his way 
here?” 

“ I know also that he might refuse to pay the whole 
sum at once, and I need it all.” 

“ At once?” 

“ Immediately.” 

“And this whole sum amounts? ” 

“ To three hundred and fifty thousand francs in round 
numbers.” 

“ Impossible !” 

“ You can convince yourself of it with your own eyes. 
I have the itemized bill.” 

And drawing a bill from his pocket, he held it before 
her eyes. 

“ Three hundred and fifty thousand francs ! You are 
right. Napoleon would never forgive my spending 
three hundred and fifty thousand francs ! How quickly 
this has run up! And it is utterly impossible for me to 
give you even a quarter of it.” 

“Yet I must have it.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

Samuel had assumed an expression wholly unfamiliar 
to Madame Bonaparte who, after gazing at him a few 
seconds, began to be troubled and asked : 


THE PRICE OF A JEWEL. 


295 


“ To whom do you wish me to apply?” 

“ I don’t know. Certainly not to Monsieur Charles,” 
he added, in order to make a still greater progress to- 
ward intimacy and, at the same time, intimidate her by 
reminding her that he was in her confidence. Think. 
Or else ” 

“ Or else?” 

“ I shall forget who you are, and proceed as if you 
were merely a private individual.” 

“You would not shrink from such a scandal?” 

“Madame, a business man shrinks from nothing, 
when the point in question is to recover his money.” 

“ Consider the discredit it would cast upon me, upon 
my husband.” 

“In that case, make a sacrifice.” 

Approaching nearer to her, he added in a more 
gentle tone : 

“ I know that you have in your jewel-case a gem for 
which I would call your account settled.” 

“What gem?” 

“ The diamond that the general hung around your neck 
on your wedding day.” 

“Never!” 

“Why?.” 

“ Because Napoleon bade me wear it as a star in which 
he trusted !” 

“ I would even add a hundred thousand francs.” 

“ Napoleon ” 

“ I know all that you are going to say to me about 
your Napoleon. Yet his superstition would be forced to 
submit to an accident. The diamond may be stolen 
from you, you may lose it. Nevertheless his regret 
would be easier to bear than his anger, when he learns 


296 


THE KOMAKCE OF THE SWOllD. 


that you have taken advantage of his absence to incur 
an indebtedness amounting to three hundred and fifty 
thousand francs.” 

“I prefer his anger.” 

“Ah!” murmured Samuel, rising, “that is another 
matter. We’ll see how you will brave the day when it 
will have reason to be terrible.” 

Madame Bonaparte raised her eyes in affright. 

Samuel scratched the gray locks which looked like 
the wool of a Kent sheep, passed his hand over his 
long white beard, then with the gesture familiar to him 
twitched his long coat. 

“ I don’t understand you !” cried Madame Bonaparte. 

Samuel, whose departure had been only a feint, re- 
turned. 

“ By refusing a receipt for three hundred and fifty 
thousand francs, plus one hundred thousand in cash, in 
exchange for the jewel in question, you have committed 
a blunder, madame.” 

The tone in which these words were uttered made 
Madame Bonaparte draw herself up as if at an insolent 
threat. 

“ That is a hazardous word. Monsieur Samuel !” 

But the Jew, without being in the least disconcerted, 
went on : 

“ And you shall have an immediate proof of it. Be- 
fore an hour has passed, the diamond will be mine with- 
out costing me anything.” 

“ Then you mean to take it from me by force?” 

“No. I have on my person certain papers, for which 
you will give it to me instantly.” 

Madame Bonaparte bent forward, curious to learn 
what these papers could be. 


THE PRICE OF A JEWEL. 


297 


Samuel rummaged in his coat and drew out a small 
package carefully tied with string. “ These are merely 
your love-letters to Monsieur Hippolyte Charles.” 

Samuel expected the effect produced. Madame Bona- 
parte suddenly turned pale, pressed her hand upon her 
heart to still its throbbing, closed her eyes, and for a 
moment was almost unconscious, after which she ex- 
claimed, “ Why, it is infamous I” 

It is business ! I want this diamond. Four hun- 
dred and fifty thousand francs are not enough. I’ll bid 
more. These letters are worth a million,, if I were a 
man to offer them to the Bourbons. Think of the ridi- 
cule with which they would cover General Bonaparte, 
the only man who really holds them in check. Instead 
of four hundred and fifty thousand francs, I therefore 
offer you a million for the jewel. You will not say 
that I do things shabbily?” 

Samuel was becoming sarcastic and cruel. 

“May I know,” faltered Madame Bonaparte, strug- 
gling not to faint, “ why Monsieur Charles parted with 
such a trust?” 

“ He gave it to me for fifty thousand francs which he 
could not pay on the day appointed.” 

“It was the act of a dastard.” 

“ I don’t defend his conduct. Do you accept this last 
proposition?” 

“I must!” she murmured, stifling a sob of mingled 
rage and grief. 

The eyes of the ex -landlord of the White Heron 
sparkled like those of a bird of prey at the siglit of a 
victim. 

“In that case, get it.” 

Madame Bonaparte walked a few steps to the little 


298 


THE KOMAKCE OF THE SWORD. 


piece of furniture in which she kept her jewels, took 
the necklace and, handing it to Samuel, said : 

“ Can you detach the stone?” 

“Why, that is my trade!” replied the Jew, whose 
hands trembled with joy in weighting the jew^el; then, 
with an abrupt movement, he broke the slender gold 
chain by which it was suspended. 

“Here are the necklace and your letters,” he said, 
preparing to take leave. “You can boast of having 
made an excellent bargain. But that’s the way with 
me. Where customers are concerned, I don’t consider 
such things. Let the three hundred and fifty thousand 
francs remain. The general must have brought home 
some little savings with him. I will await his return. 
Good-morning, Madame.” 

He went out, leaving Madame Bonaparte completely 
crushed. 

Hitherto, in her Creole recklessness, she had encoun- 
tered little opposition. Matters were so arranged that 
life was pleasant for her. In borrowing money from 
Samuel, as in her relations with Monsieur Charles, she 
had never reflected that a day comes when debts must be 
paid and illegal love affairs punished. It was the latter 
disenchantment which weighed most heavily upon her 
heart. A woman of different character would have de- 
spised her lover. She pitied him, hut this pity killed all 
love. She resolved to have done with him, to inform 
him of it in her next interview, to become once more 
Madame Bonaparte, as Gohier had so wisely advised 
her to do. On the whole, the sacrifice would not be too 
difficult. Bonaparte had not Monsieur Charles’ irresis- 
tible personal attractions, but he was a famous soldier. 
How had she made such a mistake? She could not un- 


THE PRICE OF A JEWEL. 


299 


derstand it. How stupid women are! When she had 
thrown the letters into the fire, she grew calmer, almost 
content, foreseeing only a future composed of honors, 
receptions, and entertainments. Some natures are cer- 
tainly utterly irresponsible, and. to this class belonged 
Mile. Tascher de la Pagerie, the Viscountess de Beau- 
harnais and Citizeness Bonaparte. 


CHAPTER XI. 


IN WHICH LOVE AGAIN CONQUERS A HERO. 

“We have given you liberty,” Bonaparte said to the 
Cis-alpines, “ know how to preserve it. To be worthy 
of your fate, make only wise and moderate laws; have 
them executed with vigor and energy. Favor the prop- 
agation of knowledge, and respect religion. Compose 
your battalions not of reckless vagabonds, but of citizens 
who have thrived upon the principles of the Republic 
and are intimately associated with its prosperity. You 
need to be thoroughly permeated with the consciousness 
of your strength and of the dignity which befits the. free 
man ; divided and crushed by centuries of tyranny, you 
would not have conquered your liberty ; but in a few 
years, if you should be left to yourselves, no power on 
earth will be strong enough to deprive you of it. Until 
then, the great nation will protect you against the at- 
tacks of your neighbors; its political system will be 
united to yours — I shall leave j^ou in a few days. 
The orders of my government and an imminent danger 
threatening the Cis-alpine Republic will alone recall 
me to your midst.” 

He departed amid the regrets of those whom he had 
liberated. The whole length of the route 'was a constant 
ovation. At Turin, a king expressed his gratitude. In 
Switzerland, the Vaudois exalted the glory of the liber- 
ator of Valtellina, and young girls robed in the three 
300 


LOVE AGAIK CONQUERS A HERO. 301 

colors scattered roses before him. At Rastadt, German 
princes acted as his escort. The nearer he came to 
France, the more brilliant grew the triumph. The 
ex-pupil of the Brienne school was advancing in an 
apotheosis ! 

Yet a shadow darkened his brow. 

His eye was still stern — that of the eagle which, 
perched on a lofty crag, is neither dazzled by the glare 
of the sunshine nor made giddy by the depth of the gulf 
yawning below in eternal gloom. His thin lips were 
contracted in an expression of mournful sarcasm. His 
whole countenance bore the impress of that melancholy 
from the other world which characterizes the majority 
of human geniuses. The demigod concealed a man, 
and the man’s heart was bleeding from a twofold 
wound. 

He loved, and he felt that his love was not returned. 
Junot had not told him so, but when he arrived from 
France almost let him understand it. Perhaps, during 
his sleepless nights, he had dreamed of some supreme 
power. And this power which had compelled the Em- 
peror of Austria to recognize the Rhine as the frontier of 
France, give up Mayence to the French troops and leave 
the Ionian Isles in their possession, the power which 
had given to the Cis-alpine Republic Romagna, the 
legations, the Duchy of Modena, Lombardy, Valtellina, 
Bergamo, Brescia, and Mantua, with the boundary of 
the Adige and Mantua,— this power was crushed by a 
woman at whose feet he had laid everything : his youth, 
his future, and his fame. 

Cities had surrendered at the beat of his drums; all 
the Jerichoes had crumbled at the blare of his trumpets. 
A single heart resisted his supplications and his tears. 


302 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


When his thoughts were not absorbed by Josephine, 
they turned to the sword, the sword confided to Piche- 
gru. To Pichegru banished to Guiana ! What had he 
done with it? Had he sold it to Conde? Had he de- 
stroyed it before being branded by his judges? Had 
he concealed it in the hope of using it for some future 
revenge? Oh, the fatality in which he believed, which 
had made this weapon pass from the hand of Henri IV. 
into that of a traitor to the Republic and, what was 
more serious, to France ! Must he see in this event a 
secret warning? Must he infer that he had reached his 
apogee, and that henceforward his star would pale? 
Would not the laurels twined in a soldier’s wreath soon 
serve to adorn a tomb? 

The same shadow darkened his brow. Yet to-day, 
on the occasion of the delivery of the treaty of Campo 
Formio, a magnificent festival was held in his honor in 
the great court5’ard of the Luxembourg. The Directors 
stood at the end before an altar erected to the native 
land, and adorned in the Roman style. Around them 
were grouped the ministers, the ambassadors, the mem- 
bers of both Councils, the magistrac}^, and the heads of 
the administration. Superb trophies, made of flags 
taken from the enemy, were erected at equal distances, 
eloquent reminders of battles and consequently of victo- 
ries. In the galleries were the members of the most 
brilliant society in the capital ; he could see his wife, 
radiant with joy and beauty. The finest hymn which 
Chenier had ever composed rose to the sky, accompanied 
by the thunder of artillery. And Napoleon dominated 
the whole scene with the grandeur of his genius. 

The same shadow darkened his brow ! 

Yet, around the palace, under arms, were ranged the 


LOVE AGAIN CONQUERS A HERO. 303 

soldiers whom he had brought with him, all thrilled 
with emotion and pride, like Sergeant Robert, who could 
scarcely restrain his tears. Around the palace the 
troopers, with drawn sabres, ever and anon uttered 
shouts which made their horses prance as if they again 
smelt powder. And behind the army thronged the people, 
pressing forward to see him, the hero of the da 3 ^ The 
enthusiasm of Madame Pichoux, which would have in- 
fected Pichoux had he not stoutly resisted the contagion ; 
of Charlotte, happy in the thought that Robert had his 
share of the glory ; of Caligula, was repeated a thousand 
times in the streets and squares. The people were 
those for whom he had vanquished the English at Tou- 
lon, fought on the 13th Vendemiaire, advised Pructidor, 
the people for whose glory he had captured so many 
banners ! 

The same shadow darkened his brow when Monsieur 
de Talleyrand, who had the office of presenting him to 
the people, began his speech, extolling his great deeds 
and (lest so much glory should alarm a democracy still 
in its cradle) lauding also his simplicity, his love of the 
abstract sciences, his favorite books, the sublime Ossian, 
who had taught him to detach himself from earth. 

The same shadow darkened his brow when, rising, he 
said in a firm tone : 

“ Citizens : 

“ The French nation, to gain freedom, was forced to 
battle with kings. 

“To obtain a Constitution founded upon reason, it 
had eighteen centuries of prejudices to conquer. 

“The Constitution of the year III., and you your- 
selves, have vanquished all these obstacles. 

“Religion, feudalism, royalism, for twenty centuries 


304 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


have successively governed Europe, but from the era of 
peace which you have just concluded dates the era of 
representative governments. 

“You have succeeded in organizing the great nation 
whose vast territory is limited only because nature her- 
self has fixed its boundaries. 

“You have done more. The two fairest portions of 
Europe, formerly renowned for the arts, the sciences, and 
the great men to whom they gave birth, beheld with the 
loftiest hopes the genius of Liberty soar from the tombs 
of their ancestors. 

“ They are two pedestals upon which the Fates will 
place two powerful nations. 

“ I have the honor to deliver to you the treaty signed 
at Campo-Formio and ratified by his Majesty the 
Emperor. 

“Peace secures the liberty, the prosperity, and the 
glory of the Republic. 

“ When the happiness of the French nation is founded 
upon the best organic laws, all Europe will become free !” 

In vain the shouts of “ Long live the Republic ! Long 
live Bonaparte!” rose on all sides; in vain Barras pub- 
licly proposed to the hero to go and gain fresh laurels in 
hated England ; in vain the valiant Joubert and An- 
dreossy, accompanied by the Minister of War, waved 
before him the new oriflamme of the Republic, on which 
were recorded in letters of gold the exploits of the Army 
of Italy ; in vain the Directors, personating all France, 
embraced him; in vain universal cheers rose to the 
radiant azure sky; in vain the cannon mingled their 
bronze roaring with the raptures of the populace ! — the 
same shadow still darkened his brow. 

Bonaparte had noticed that Josephine did not wear 


LOVE AGAIN- CONQUERS A HERO. 


305 


on her neck the diamond removed from the hilt of the 
sword of Henri IV. 

Was nothing left of the talisman? This was the 
thought which absorbed him and would continue to do 
so until he could be alone with her. He must bear the 
torture until the evening. No one would see it when 
he reviewed his troops ; no one noticed it when, at the 
entertainment given to him by the Minister of Foreign 
Affairs, he discussed mathematics with Laplace, meta- 
physics with Sieyes, poetry with Chenier, public law 
with Daunou. Yet the thought remained there, firm 
as a nail, so deeply imbedded that at times he raised his 
hand to his forehead as if a wound were bleeding. 

At last he had done with the crowd. The horses of 
the coupe which bore him back with Josephine to the Rue 
Chantereine, now the Rue de la Victoire, flew over the 
pavement. They reached the house. They were alone. 

“ What have you done with the jewel in your neck- 
lace?” 

Though she must have expected the question she 
started, turned pale, and stammered : 

“I must confess it, Napoleon, I have lost it.” 

She uttered the words in so gentle a voice, raising her 
eyes beseechingly to his, that Bonaparte’s heart melted . 
Why should she not have lost the jewel, since he had 
lost the sword? And he allowed himself to sink into 
the arms she extended, finding forgetfulness in the 
caress, repose in the domination. 

20 


PAET THIRD. 

THE AFFAIR IN THE RUE SAINT-NICAISE. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE PASSING YEARS. 

History had turned the pages of the Book of Fate. 

The Army of Italy had sailed for Egypt, Malta had 
been captured, Egypt delivered by the Syrian expedi- 
tion and the battle of Aboukir from the yoke of the 
Porte. Bonaparte had seized Alexandria and the cap- 
ital, conquered the Delta, and entrusted to Desaix the 
subjection of Upper Egypt. The tricolor had floated 
on the Nile. 

Meanwhile England, intoxicated by Nelson’s success 
at Aboukir, triumphant at St. Petersburg as well as at 
Constantinople, directed new enemies against France, 
provoked fresh disturbances in Holland, Switzerland, 
and the Italian Republic, brought about a renewal of 
hostilities with Italy, Austria, and Russia, compelled 
the patriots to make a statement declaring the country 
in danger. Bonaparte, feeling that his presence was 
indispensable in France, sailed through the midst of the 
English fleets, anchored in the harbor of Frejus, and 
on the 15th Vendemiaire, 1799, reached Pa,ris. 

The politician perceived the situation at a glance. 

306 


THE PASSING YEARS. 


307 


The Royalist party, emboldened by the young general’s 
absence, had made fresh progress. Louis XVIII., pro- 
tected by Paul I., lived at Mittau, the capital of Cour- 
land, where he had re-organized his court and his gov- 
ernment, and whence he was striving to renew the plot 
destroyed by the 18th Fructidor. New captures of 
arms had taken place in Vendee and Brittany. Barras 
was listening to propositions from the court of Mittau, 
to the degree of receiving letters patent signed by the 
king and countersigned by Monsieur de Saint-Priest, 
Minister of Foreign Affairs, sealed with the great seal, 
in which were the words : “ General Paul de Barras, 

wishing to re-establish the monarchy in the person of 
Louis XVIII., his Majesty would agree to give him 
security and indemnity ; security, by pledging his sacred 
word to interpose between Paul de Barras and any tri- 
bunal whatsoever which desired to know his opinions 
and his votes, and to annul by his sovereign power 
any inquiries concerning the indemnity, by promising 
him a sum equivalent to two years of his emoluments 
in his office of Director, that is, twelve millions of Tours 
livres at least, without including two millions to be 
distributed among the principal co-operators, and the 
other sums requisite for the expenses of the movement 
to be effected in Paris.” As a historian has said, the 
executive powder was without vigor, the legislative 
assemblies had no influence, the corporate bodies no 
respect, the public mind no energy. 

Bonaparte saw that a decisive step was indispensable, 
not only to establish domestic order, but especially to 
put an end to the new efforts of the Reaction. On the 
18th Brumaire, the Council of the Ancients, summoned 
by the commission of inspectors, met. Representative 


oOS THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 

Cornet ascended the tribune and denounced the conspir- 
acy. Representative Regnier read an outline of a reso- 
lution containing, among other details, the transfer of 
the two councils composing the Legislative Corps to 
Saint Cloud, which passed without opposition. Bona- 
parte went to the hall of the Council of the Ancients, had 
the military dictatorship entrusted to him, and took the 
members of the legislative power by assault. A decree 
declared the Directory dissolved, and created, under the 
name of Consuls of the Republic, a provisory executive 
commission, composed of the ex-Directors Siej’es and 
Roger-Ducos, and General Bonaparte. The latter as- 
sumed the title of First Consul. 

Promulgated the 22d Frimaire in the year VIII., the 
new Constitution confided to a general of thirty all the 
powers of the Revolution. 

The conqueror of Italy and of Egypt was the actual 
master of France. 

While these events were occurring, Madame Pichoux 
and Caligula had returned from Italy; the former to 
regain her husband’s affection and draw custom back 
to the Three Mile-Stones; the latter to seek some new 
way of earning a living. After the Egyptian campaign, 
Robert, now promoted to the rank of lieutenant, came 
to Paris. The day of his marriage with Charlotte was 
approaching. 

Kerouan was still alive. 

From the time that he deserted Charlotte, packed his 
bundle of clothes and set forth, he wandered about hap- 
hazard a long while, as he did at the time he suddenly 
quitted Brest, alleging that he had a horror of the sea, 
and of Brest and its inhabitants too. He drank, drank 
continually. Only once, when intoxicated — with the 


THE PASSIKG YEARS. 


309 


evil intoxication of the poor whose stomachs are empty 
— unable to vent his rage on Charlotte, he arraigned 
Heaven, accusing it of being the cause of all his woes 
and misfortunes. When he had done with Heaven, he 
paused, with bloodshot eyes, foaming lips, and clenched 
fists, to defy an invisible person. He was a horrible 
spectacle at such moments; he had aged still more, his 
hair and beard were rougher and whiter, his glance was 
more disagreeable, his mouth more withered, his skin 
more wrinkled, his body more bent and shaking. He 
was the hideous embodiment of surliness and resentment. 

He spent a short time everywhere, living as he could ; 
by turns refitter, wharf-porter, laborer; indifferent to 
what was passing around him ; insensible to events, of 
whatever nature they might be. Then, after three years’ 
vagabondage, he returned to Paris, uneasy at what 
might have befallen Charlotte. He was beginning to 
miss her, as a man misses the dog he is in the habit of 
beating. He prowled about the Three Mile-Stones at 
night, recognized her, and thought of claiming her, but 
hesitated. Why burden himself again with a victim 
whom he could find at any time? So he passed on. A 
few days after he learned that some builders of pile- 
work were wanted. He understood the trade, which, 
by comparison, was poorly paid, presented himself, and 
got the job. 

Kerouan went to a tavern situated on the quay of la 
Rapee, and known in those days as the “Monkey’s 
Tavern” because its sign represented a monkey dressed 
as a muscadin. It was an old two-story house, built 
with beams and plaster, pierced by eight windows with 
yellowish panes, and covered with a tiled roof. Along 
the entire building was a sort of scurf, formed of paint 


310 


THE EOMA-HCE OF THE SWORD. 


peeling in patches, mould, and dirt, which gave it a par- 
ticularly sinister appearance. The entrance was through 
a low doorway, opening into a hall used for both restau- 
rant and coffee-room. On the first floor was another 
room where the seafaring folk played cards. The 
second was occupied by three rooms which were rented by 
the week, and a loft for the landlord, Pere Lambert, who 
remembered having known Louis XV. when a child. 

The Monkey’s Tavern was patronized by a special 
class of customers, not composed of bargemen, as its 
location would have led one to believe, but of Vendeans 
and Chouans, members of the famous societies of the 
Sun and Black Cross^ and also of numerous rebellious 
recruits. Between two glasses of wine, plans of con- 
spiracy were discussed. Fouche’s police did not molest 
them, for some of their number unconsciously served 
him as indicators. Under such conditions Kerouan, 
who usually let things take their course, would have 
run the risk of being uncomfortable, if, among the fre- 
quenters of the tavern, there had not chanced to be a 
few Bretons who, like himself, were lovers of the bottle. 
One feast-day they tried to influence him. They must 
everthrow the Republic, get rid of Bonaparte, restore 
the Bourbons, the only rulers who loved the peasants of 
the West and prayed to God. Kerouan cared neither 
for Republic, Bonaparte, nor Bourbons. All he wanted 
was wine ! Yes, but the day the Bourbons entered Paris, 
they would break open tuns, all the people could drink. 
Then Kerouan would drink too, but without taking 
sides. He would drink for the sake of drinking. He 
was wrong not to feel more enthusiasm. It probably 
came from his ignorance of the names of the leaders. 
Rough fellows : they were called Picot-Lemoelan, Car- 


THE PASSING YEAKS. 


311 


bon, surnamed Petit Frangois, and the strongest of all, 
the leader of leaders — Saint-Re j ant. At the name of 
Saint- Re j ant, Kerouan felt a thrill run through every 
nerve. He remained silent a long time, with eyes half 
opened, in the attitude of a sot. This lasted several 
minutes, after which his face again resumed its evil 
expression, nay, became almost frightful. He clenched 
his hands till the nails buried in the palms. 

“ Saint-Rejant !” he repeated, going up to his com- 
panions. “Who is this Saint-Rejant?” 

“An ex-privateer.” 

“ Breton?” 

“ Yes, Breton. A man who, for the king, would kill 
his own father.” 

“ Oh !” 

Words failed, his emotion fairly choked him, and he 
drank a tumbler full of wine. 

“ So he conspires?” 

“Against Bonaparte.” 

“That’s dangerous.” 

“Dangerous when a person is stupid enough to let 
himself be caught.” 

“ And when a person is stupid enough for that, does 
it mean death?” 

“ Instant death.” 

“ Good.” 

Kerouan rose, and paced up and down for several 
minutes with his hands in his pockets. 

“ Where can this Saint-Rejant be seen?” 

“Here. He comes every day.” 

“At what hour?” 

“ In the evening.” 

“How does it happen that I have never seen him?” 


312 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“ He .enters through the door opening into the yard 
which extends round the house and ends in the Rue de 
la Petite-Traverse. Pere Lambert lends him his room, 
to which only the initiated are admitted. Then they 
talk together. It seems that he has an extraordinary 
plan. If it succeeds, which we do not doubt, the First 
Consul will dance a Carmagnole which will make plenty 
of talk in the Republic. Wouldn’t it be fun to be 
among the violins?” 

“Oh, yes!” murmured Kerouan, striking the table 
with his clenched fist. 

“ Shall we present you to him?” 

“This very evening.” 

“ So be it. One more isn’t to be despised in a time 
when everybody counts.” 

Bottles of wine were ordered in honor of the new re- 
cruit. Kerouan, who had received some money the 
evening before, treated in his turn but, to the amaze- 
ment of hia companions, did not drink. 

Then he went out and, to pass away the time until 
the evening, walked along the wharves. 

A great transformation had taken place in him, which 
would have been a restoration to youth, if a man worn 
out by age, trouble, and drunkenness was capable of 
such a renewal. In the dense shadows his face fairly 
glowed with joy at the thought of finding himself face 
to face with the Saint-Rejant whom he had never ex- 
pected to meet. 

Circumstances would perhaps furnish him with an 
opportunity for a magnificent revenge. 

Already in the future of men and actions he caught 
a glimpse of something terrible, a sanguinaceous hori- 
zon across which flitted the shadow of Charlotte. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE monkey’s tavern. 

The clock was striking nine when Saint- Rejant en- 
tered the Monkey’s Tavern. 

Picot-Lemoelan and Carbon had arrived several min- 
utes before and were waiting, with some partisans, in 
the landlord’s room. 

Saint- Rejant seemed to have aged more than twice as 
much as was warranted by the passage of the years. 
His round head rested on shoulders which had grown 
less robust in consequence of bending under the burden 
of events and disappointments. His little tigerish eyes, 
set close to the nose, which resembled an eagle’s beak, 
darted glances equally malevolent but less brilliant. He 
continued to wear a shabby cloth coat adorned with cop- 
per buttons, and a felt hat with a reddish nap, and 
leaned more heavily upon his gnarled staff. 

The most obvious evidence of Saint-Rejant’s advanc- 
ing years was his increased sensitiveness in regard to 
children. Formerly the sight of them touched him; 
now contact with them moved him to tears. If ques- 
tioned concerning the cause of such exaggerated sensi- 
bility, he no longer maintained an obstinate silence, but 
alluded to a child whom God had snatched from him in 
a day of wrath. His voice trembled and, sobbing, he 
hid his face in his hands that he might shut everything 
from his sight. 


313 


314 


THE EOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


Saint- Rejant began to speak, explained the situation 
of affairs, added that he had nothing more to say, and 
asked to be left alone with Picot-Lemoelan and Carbon. 

Just as that moment one of the persons present spoke 
of Kerouan as a new-comer who wished to enter the 
society of the Black Cross. 

The Breton consonance of the name Kerouan induced 
Saint-Rejant to see him at once. 

Kerouan, who was waiting outside, was introduced, 
and stood before the ex- privateersman with a fierce, un- 
easy expression. He looked like an old fighting-dog 
ready to spring upon his adversary and rend him at the 
slightest movement. 

But as Saint-Rejant did not make the movement, 
Kerouan altered both attitude and expression, facing 
his man with eager curiosity. 

Saint-Rejant noticed this and put an end to it by 
saying : 

“Your name is Kerouan and you are a Breton, that 
I know already. What leads you to join us?” 

“A hate.” 

“Against whom?” 

“What does that matter, if I follow and aid you?” 

“ Of what are you capable?” 

“Of everything.” 

“ Even a crime?” 

“Above all, of a crime!” roared Kerouan. 

“ I have been told that you drank. ” 

“ It is true. I drink to stupefy myself. I drink to 
forget. But from the day that it is necessary for me to 
remember, I swear by Saint Anne, the mother of God, 
that nothing shall touch my lips, except clear water.” 

“A drunkard’s oath! I don’t want your help.” 


THE monkey’s tavern. 


315 


“ Even if I swore by the blood of Christ.” 

“Even if you swore by the blood of Christ.” 

“ Then let these people leave me alone with you.” 

“ For what purpose?” 

“ I will explain what service I can render.” 

“Why shouldn’t you speak in their presence?” 

“ Because there are some secrets which concern God 
alone. ” 

“ I refuse.” 

“ Take care.” 

“ Do you dare to threaten?” 

Saint-Rejant had regained his former aspect. His 
little tigerish eyes glittered with a terrible light. His 
strong jaws grew prominent like those of a hungry wild 
animal. He played with his gnarled stick. 

Kerouan answered the defiance : 

“ Yes, I dare to threaten. And my threat is terrible, 
since it consists in rendering a sorrow hidden in your 
heart perpetual.” 

This time, Saint-Rejant started and, addressing him- 
self to the others, said : 

“Retire until I recall you.” 

An instant after the tw’o men were alone. 

“How speak,” said Saint-Rejant. 

“Listen,” Kerouan began, “and you shall judge 
whether I know you. You were born at Quimper. 
After spending your childhood in roving about like a 
dog and thieving like a pole-cat, you took your first 
communion and entered the royal navy as cabin-boy. 
Is this true?” 

“ It is true.” 

“At twenty years old, you became a pirate.” 

“True again.” 


316 


THE ROMAKCE OF THE SAVORD. 


“ At thirty captain of a privateer.” 

“ Still true.” 

“ I knew your flag. It bore in red letters the words : 
‘Ood ” 

“ ‘ And the king."* You have a good memory.” 

“ I’ll answer for it. Those words were embroidered 
by a woman whose Christian name was Catharine.” 

“By the living God! How do you know?” 

“ Wait, I have much more to say. This Catharine 
had formerly been a good woman. At Quimperle, where 
she lived, people called her Catharine the Wise, because 
she only went out to mass and to Avork. She won the 
love of a sailor. Do you remember his name?” 

“Alas!” 

“ It was Lomedec.” ^ 

“ Yvan Lomedec!” repeated Saint-Rejant. 

“The first months of their marriage were happy. 
Catharine promised to be a good wife as she had been a 
virtuous maiden up to the time that Yvan Lomedec was 
obliged to go to sea. He remained absent nearly a year. 
On his return, as he went home wild with joy at the 
thought of seeing his Avife again, he perceived that his 
house was empty. He made inquiries. No one would 
answer. He went to Ruscoff, the quartermaster, his 
godfather: ‘Ruscoff,’ he said, ‘though it should be my 
death, tell me what has become of Catharine.’ ‘Catha- 
rine,’ he answered, ‘is no longer worthy of you. A 
fortnight ago, a daughter was born!”’ 

Kerouan was forced to stop. 

In spite of his efforts to maintain his self-control, he 
feared that rage and grief would overpower him. 

As to Saint-Rejant, the bewilderment caused hy hear - 
ing Kerouan ’s story, the various emotions experienced 


THE MONKEY’S TAVERH. 


317 


during the course of the narrative, and especially at the 
mention of Catharine’s sin, blended into a tumult of 
feeling. 

Kerouan made another effort and continued : 

“There are griefs beyond description. I witnessed 
Lomedec’s. Do you believe in hell. Saint- Re j ant? Im- 
agine all the sorrows and tortures which God reserves 
for us there; Lomedec has endured them. Yet, spite of 
Catharine’s unworthiness, he wished to see her. He 
insisted upon Ruscoff ’s telling him and at last learned 
that she had taken refuge with her child in a little vil- 
lage situated a few leagues distant called Maleck. On 
seeing him, Catharine shrieked aloud and ” 

“ Go on, Kerouan !” 

“ Fell prostrate on the floor.” 

“ Fainting?” 

“ Dead!” 

“ Dead !” murmured Saint-Rejant. “ Dead !” 

“ Of surprise ! And shame !” 

“And the child?” 

“ The child? You shall know.” 

Saint-Rejant, now horribly pale, stretched his neck to 
hear better. 

“ The child— a girl — was taken away by the husband, 
who determined to keep and rear her, that the proof of 
the crime, ever before his eyes, might maintain in his 
soul a constant desire for vengeance, over which he had 
brooded for years without being able to And the scoun- 
drel who had destroyed his happiness forever.” 

“What is the tale of his sufferings to me? Tell me 
rather what became of him !” 

“ He is dead too !” replied Kerouan, after a few sec- 
onds’ hesitation. 


318 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


‘‘And the child? Mine, Kerouan!” 

“ The devil ! If you shout so loud, Lomedec will hear 
you. There are dead men who rise from their tombs.” 

Saint-Rejant had become a supplicant. 

Kerouan grasped a chair and shattering it into pieces, 
which he cast aside, went on : 

“The child? ITl tell you where she is the day after 
the conspiracy which you are planning, and I wish to 
join, is consummated. Not before.” 

“ Why?” 

“ By my mother’s soul, I will say no more ! Let it 
suffice for you to know and choose.” 

Saint-Rejant understood that it would be useless to 
try to conquer a brutish obstinacy. Any other person 
would have hesitated to confide the secrets of a conspir- 
acy to a stranger, though he was a Breton, and hence a 
Catholic and a Royalist. The necessity of learning 
what had become of the child vanquished both reason 
and prudence. 

“ So be it. You shall join us.” 

He rose and went to the door to call Picot-Lemoelan 
and Carbon, surnamed Petit Frangois. 

Saint-Rejant presented Kerouan to the other two 
members. When Picot-Lemoelan inquired the reason 
for this addition of a fourth person, Saint-Rejant re- 
plied ; 

“Because Heaven imposes him upon me!” 

This was enough for both Picot-Lemoelan and Car- 
bon. Saint-Rejant signed to them all to sit near him 
and began : 

“Circumstances make it a duty to hasten affairs. 
For seven years, we have tried everything; when I say 
we, I mean the party to which we have the honor to be- 


THE monkey’s tavern. 


319 


long. The day after the death of King Louis XVI., the 
Catholic Royalists interested Europe in their cause. 
Austria, thanks to family ties, engaged in the war. 
Prussia advanced beyond the Rhine. Catharine de- 
serted the philosophers. Piedmont attacked France. 
We beheld foreign armies prepare for invasion, and the 
day after the battle of Nerwinde and the defection of 
Dumouriez saw the Revolution lose successively its con- 
quests and its northern frontier. Had there been more 
harmony among the generals of the Coalition, had they 
known how-to press forward, the countries might have 
been ours. Their incapacity and indecision lost every- 
thing the first time. You know this, Carbon?” 

“ I know it.” 

“And you also, Picot-Lemoelan?” 

“ Haven’t I watched the operations day by day?” 

“And you, Kerouan?” 

Kerouan raised his head, which had been bowed from 
the commencement of this speech, and looked at Saint- 
Rejant with an expression of surprise, as if wondering 
why he questioned him? Was he interested in the prog- 
ress of events? Had he even noticed them? King, 
Convention, Republic, Allies, what were they to him? 

He mechanically put out his hand for a glass of liquor, 
then remembering that he had sworn by Saint Anne, 
the mother of God, he resumed his former attitude, 
lapsing into the same mute, motionless condition. 

“The Royalists,” Saint-Rejant continued, “were not 
discouraged. The Ven deans rose, took Thouars, Lou- 
don, Doue, Saumur, finally conquered throughout the 
whole extent of their territory, at the same time that 
the foreign troops attacked and seized Mayence, block- 
aded Conde, which surrendered, and laid formal siege to 


320 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Valenciennes, which capitulated. Lastly Toulon yielded 
to the English. A single man appeared, and everything 
was changed. Nations obeyed and kings trembled. 
This man’s name was Bonaparte. Must I remind you 
of what he has done since the siege of Toulon? You 
know it as well as I. Bonaparte is the genius of the 
Republic and of war unchained against centuries of 
kingship. He is a sort of Satan of victory, bearing 
away in the whirlwind of his flight all our convictions 
and all our hopes. Bonaparte is the enemy. It is Bona- 
parte who must be struck.” 

“Certainly!” cried Carbon. 

“ To the heart 1” added Picot-Lemoelan. 

Kerouan’s face seemed to have gained new life. He 
was beginning to follow Saint-Rejant’s words, and rais- 
ing his head a moment, gazed at him. 

“To the heart!” Saint-Rejant repeated. “You have 
said it, Picot-Lemoelan ; others have said so too. Since 
the siege of Toulon, the court of Naples has never ceased 
to conspire against the Republic. Ferdinand IV., a 
Bourbon, Queen Caroline, whom Bonaparte did not fear 
to brand with the name of the Modern Athaliah^ Chev- 
alier Acton, Lady Hamilton, Admiral Nelson devoted 
themselves to his destruction, even forming a committee 
of inspiration, whose expenses in London were paid by 
Baron d’Awerwech, the confidant of Pitt. Last year, 
to force the Austrian cabinet to a rupture, the conspir- 
acy to assassinate the French plenipotentiaries in the 
Congress of Rastadt was based upon the same principle. 
And the acts of Georges Cadoudal? Nothing has 
availed.” 

“Nothing!” muttered Carbon angrily. 

“Nothing!” repeated Picot-Lemoelan. 


THE MOHKEY’S tavern. 


321 


Kerouan continued to listen more and more intently. 

Saint-Rejant perceived it. 

“You are beginning to be interested in my words?” 
asked Saint-Rejant. “Answer, Kerouan.” 

“More than you can suppose,” murmured Kerouan. 
“Goon.” 

“ Nothing has availed, because nothing ought to avail. 
We are living in an epoch where everything must be 
new, even the manner of meting out justice. A con- 
spiracy should no longer be a project in which hundreds 
of persons are interested, but a secret shared only among 
three or four. Judgments of the kind which must strike 
Bonaparte are no longer pronounced in the full sunlight, 
dagger in hand ; but in darkness, with the most terrible, 
most perfect, and surest weapons. Ra vail lac and Da- 
miens have had their day. Let us rise to the height of 
ours.” 

Kerouan was no longer the only person to devour 
Saint-Rejant’s words. Carbon and Picot-Lemoelan 
fairly hung on his lips, knowing that Saint-Rejant 
wished to kill, having divined that he wished to kill, 
but ignorant where and how. 

Saint-Rejant went on : 

“ Therefore the time for stupid heroisms is over. To 
have for jailers Chancellor Lamoignon, Machault, the 
keeper of the seals, a secretary of state of foreign 
affairs; forjudges, five princes of the blood, twenty-two 
dukes and peers, twelve presidents of courts of justice, 
seven honorary councillors, four referendaries, and nine- 
teen councillors of the supreme court; to be conducted 
before regiments of French and Swiss guards, placed on 
a scaffold eight and a half feet square, bound with ropes 
held by iron rings which confine the arms and thighs, 
21 


322 


THE ROMANCE OE THE SWORD. 


burned on the right hand by a brazier of sulphur, nipped 
in the flesh with red-hot pincers, cicatrized by molten 
lead, pitch, rosin, and boiling oil, quartered by four 
stout horses lashed by four men, and finally flung to the 
flames, is all very fine. But it is useless. Had Damiens 
escaped his judges he would have begun again and 
lengthened his knife into a dagger.” 

The three listeners had drawn nearer and nearer to 
one another until their heads seemed to belong to a sin- 
gle body, a single monster. 

“ So we will not strike with the knife, we will not aim 
musket or pistol, we will not even pour out poison. We 
will prepare an explosive machine so arranged that it 
will go off when our man passes. It explodes, he dies, 
there is no trace of the criminals. We shall have the 
double advantage of enjoying our triumph, after having 
asked God’s pardon for the deed at the same time we 
besought forgiveness for our previous sins. Will you 
aid me on these conditions?” 

Carbon rose : 

“ Saint-Rejant, go, hasten, strike! God knew your 
purpose and sent me to take part in it.” 

It was Picot-Lemoelan’s turn : 

“ Saint-Rejant, I have awaited this instant with the 
impatience of a desperate man. I share your hopes 
and hates. Dispose of me blindly.” 

Now Kerouan’s time to speak had come. 

The old sailor was pale, very pale from the effort it 
cost him to find words and to utter them. 

He said : 

“ In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy 
Ghost, the compact is concluded.” 

He sank heavily back into his chair, passing his 


THE monkey’s tavern. 


323 


tongue over his lips, like an old wolf in a time of 
drought. 

“Then,” said Saint- Rejant in conclusion, “farewell 
till we meet again, which will be soon. And may God 
guard us all four !” 

A few seconds after Saint-Rejant, Carbon, surnamed 
Petit Frangois, and Picot-Lemoelan were on the first 
floor with their partisans. 

Kerouan had left the house and, sitting outside, list- 
ened to the wind blowing over the river. 


CHAPTER III. 


IN WHICH LOVE FLUTTERS ITS WINGS. 

Meanwhile Lieutenant Robert and Charlotte were 
on the eve of securing happiness. 

On being made a lieutenant, Robert’s first step was 
to remind Charlotte of the promise which they had ex- 
changed. Charlotte had not forgotten, but waited for 
him to speak of it again. Habituated to suffering from 
her earliest childhood, unaccustomed even to hope, she 
knew so well the fatality burdening her life, that she 
dared not even allude to a possible joy, from the fear 
that it would instantly vanish. She heard Robert de- 
scribe their future life with the infinite delight of a 
prisoner who had emerged from his dungeon to admire 
a beautiful spring morning. His words thrilled her like 
the notes of music announcing the approach to Paradise. 

“Your wife! Your wife, Robert ! I cannot imagine 
it yet ! I had believed that my life would be continual 
suffering, like perpetual punishment for an offence for 
wdiich I was not responsible. Your wife!” 

“Yes, my wife! I will give you happiness, Char- 
lotte, in return for all you have been made to suffer. ” 

“Alas! my poor friend, I would sacrifice whatever 
portion of my life yet remains for one moment of that 
happiness. But once more, can I believe in it?” 

“Since I am the person who predicts it.” 

“ Do yon remember the evening we spent in the house 
324 


IN WHICH LOVE FLUTTERS ITS WINGS. 


325 


in the Rue de Valois, when the tocsin was ringing and 
the mob was roaring in the distance? We talked to- 
gether a long time from my window. You had already 
told me of your love. I warned you that we were not 
of the same race, that this love was a dream which 
could never be realized, that I even felt that I should 
not live long. ‘ If I do not succumb to poverty, ’ I added, 
and there are some words which we keep graven in the 
depths of our hearts, ‘ I shall to grief or to the conse- 
quences of a catastrophe whose character I cannot 
define, but which I foresee.’ And as I pointed to a 
star, telling you that I should live again in it some day, 
another one larger and more brilliant appeared near it. 
It sparkled, then shot into space, and the first one van- 
ished, dragged down in its fall.” 

“ And your presentiments were increased by still an- 
other one.” 

“ That our end would be the same.” 

Both were silenced by the impression produced by this 
memory. But Robert did not wish to be saddened, and 
Charlotte was eager to deceive herself. They renewed 
the conversation at the point where they had dropped it. 
Evidently they would not be rolling in gold, but promo- 
tion was rapid in the army, and when the first grades 
had been passed, competence was certain ; perhaps for- 
tune. So many positions had changed abruptly in this 
period of disturbances and conquests! Was not Bona- 
parte an example of it? Without having the genius of 
the First Consul, a man might aspire to the situation of 
many of those who surrounded him, provided that he 
possessed their devotion and courage. The war was far 
from being over. There would be many other oppor- 
tunities of distinguishing himself, gaining promotion. 


326 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


bringing her fresh laurels as a tribute of his love. And, 
in their souls, in which trust for a few hours took the 
place of melancholy and doubt, rose a concert of kisses, 
mingled with the waving of banners, the discharge of 
cannon, and songs of victory ! 

Good Madame Pichoux and, let us say it in his honor. 
Monsieur Pichoux neglected no opportunity of giving 
the lovers occasions of meeting. Lieutenant Robert had 
a place set for him at their table with the entreaty to 
use it as often as possible. Whenever the duties of his 
profession permitted, Robert spent the evening with 
Charlotte, and as his pay permitted him to do so, he 
took her to walk, to concerts, and to the theatre. 

The dear child, prettily dressed, thanks to her em- 
ployer’s generosity, walked arm in arm with her lover. 
No one would have recognized the poor little girl whom 
Kerouan beat. The lines of premature grief had van- 
ished from the forehead framed by the curl-papers. Her 
eyes, green as sea- water, were no longer haggard from 
watching and recent tears, and ceasing to express secret 
terror, reflected a timid yet deep happiness. Her smile, 
formerly pathetic in its sadness, no longer seemed like 
the exhalation of a plaint too long repressed, but rather 
an expression of surprise at being momentarily happy. 
Lastly, she no longer had the bearing of fragile trem- 
bling beings who, aware of their weakness, bow their 
heads and shoulders that people may have compassion 
upon them. She was erect and proud, feeling that she 
was protected and beloved. 

Robert, too, walked like a triumphant poet through 
the paths of a sacred grove. He wore his uniform in so 
elegant and jaunty a fashion that women liked to turn 
and look after him, while the men, in their pride in 


IK WHICH LOVE FLUTTERS ITS WINGS. 327 

possessing an invincible army, did not hesitate to com- 
pliment him aloud. As he passed with his hand on the 
hilt of his sword, bending toward Charlotte till his 
mustache brushed her face, superficial people mur- 
mured, “A handsome couple!” close observers, 
“There goes a happy pair!” And behind them flut- 
tered youth and love, surrounding them with fragrance 
and delight. 

Then both were reminded of the mystery which sur- 
rounded their birth. Robert had told her everything at 
first : how his mother had loved a man who, when on 
the eve of doing his duty, had set out for London and 
sent her no news of him, which caused her to die of 
grief. Charlotte had informed him on her part that 
her mother had succumbed to sorrow, adding that on 
account of her youth she had not understood why. 
These avowals caused sadness, but drew closer the bonds 
which united them. They entered more fully into each 
other’s inmost life, which is always a joy to those who 
love. 

One morning, Robert went to take her into the coun- 
try, and they flew out of the city like two birds set at 
liberty. The sky was so blue that it seemed to be hold- 
ing a festival : the intense blue which makes us long to 
believe in an eternity of azure. The sun diffused a 
pleasant warmth, illumined the city, glittered upon the 
windows, flashed upon the pavements. Outside of 
Paris, there was a carnival of flowery fields, woods filled 
with emeralds, roads winding like re-animated serpents, 
birds, and lovers. For to-day all happy pairs seemed to 
have chosen the same place of meeting. They revelled 
in the delight of walking together: he rejoicing in 
feeling Charlotte lean on his arm, so near him that their 


328 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWOKD. 


hearts touched when their lips did not; she happy in the 
trustfulness of the young girl who loves and knows that 
she is beloved. He was a splendid-looking fellow in his 
new uniform whose gold lace glittered in the sunlight. 
She was bewitching in her white muslin dress, which 
revealed two tiny little feet, and a straw hat trimmed 
with poppies. They were the very personification of 
love in all its freshness and charm. 

They stopped at a restaurant and had breakfast served 
in an arbor, where the sun, shining through the vine- 
clad roof, cast the shadow of the moving leaves upon the 
table-cloth and colored the carafe and glasses with iri- 
descent hues. Now and then a greedy honey-bee fiew 
by or a mocking-bird whistled. In their artless joy, 
everything awakened surprise and mirth. Then Robert 
held out his hand, and Charlotte slipped hers into it. 
They remained in this attitude for several minutes, 
without exchanging a single word. How many things 
silence can express ! 

When the sweet dishes were served, Robert became 
serious again. He remained lost in thought for several 
minutes, tracing circles on the table-cloth with the han- 
dle of his knife, and then said : 

“ Now it is time for us to think about it. When?” 

Charlotte opened her eyes wide, surprised by a ques- 
tion which she did not understand. 

“ When?” she repeated in the tone of a person asking 
an explanation. “ What?” 

^‘Why, the wedding.” 

She still looked bewildered. 

“ The marriage !” 

The word awakened so much happiness that it seemed 
to have lost its real meaning. 


IN WHICH LOVE FLUTTERS ITS WINGS. 


329 


We accustom ourselves to the thought of future jo 3 ^s; 
at first intoxicated by the hopes they inspire, we become 
familiar with their possibility. Then, when the hour 
strikes, we feel afraid, as of a phantom which has sud- 
denly assumed material form. The realization had 
appeared so problematical that it awakens terror, es- 
pecially in persons who, like Charlotte, have akways 
had reasons for doubting. 

“Yes,” Robert continued, “our marriage, Charlotte. 
It is decided. But we are not going to live on without 
fixing the date, for two reasons: we must hasten to 
reach the desired goal ; in these days one never knows 
who will live:” 

“ Then choose a date. I will accept it.” 

“ My mother died on the 24th of December. I should 
like to have our union take place on the day of my 
greatest sorrow.” 

“Since tears must always mingle with the purest 
joys, let it be on the 24th of December.” 

“ I love you !” 

The day, shadowed for an instant by the memory of 
a dead woman, again brightened. The sun darted more 
ardent rays upon the interlaced glycinas and vines, and 
outlined sharper figures upon the cloth. The bees re- 
turned to the honey, and the bird sang with its fullest 
notes. A flush of happiness tinged the faces of the 
lovers. They seemed to be smiling at invisible angels. 

Thej^ pursued their way, feeling as if they had wings. 
The wealth of those who love is boundless. The world 
belonged to them. They need only raise their arms to 
touch the azure of the firmament and unfasten a star. 
The flowers enamelled the paths to make them softer to 
their feet. The birds sang for their pleasure. Horizons 


330 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


were formed in harmonious outlines to charm their 
eyes. Intoxicating perfumes rose from the earth to 
give them fragrance. The breeze blew to caress them. 
So many kind attentions filled them with joyful vanity. 
Robert, who was reserved by nature, could not weary 
of talking. Charlotte had snatches of song upon her 
lips, and for a time her conversation, already a cooing 
sound, became a melody. 

They turned homeward, as the hour was growing late 
and the stage-coaches did not run after a certain hour. 
The tedium of the trip did not cool their pleasure. 
They were filled — having named the marriage-day — 
with the confidence bestowed by a signature. They 
imagined that they now belonged to each other more 
than ever, had a still better right to say “my future 
husband,” “my betrothed wife;” their eyes, glowing 
with a deeper light, expressed more intimacy, and they 
drew nearer to each other like shivering birds. Once, 
to deceive themselves, the following conversation took 
place between them : 

“Good-morning, Charlotte.” 

“Good-morning, Robert.” 

“ So we are going home?” 

“We are going home.” 

“ Have you prepared everything, my dear wife?” 

“Everything, my dear husband.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me. I cannot help compli- 
menting you on your housekeeping. I did not expect 
you to be as good as you are beautiful. I was mistaken 
and apologize most humbly.” 

“ I accept the apology, my dear husband.” 

“Kiss me, then.” 

“ The 24th of December !” 


IK AVHICH LOVE FLUTTERS ITS WIKGS. 331 

And at the reply given by Charlotte, who did not 
wish that the delusion should be endless, Robert made 
so comical a face that Charlotte burst into a fresh, ring- 
ing laugh, like the matin song of a lark, a laugh which 
had so contagious an influence upon the lieutenant that 
he joined in the mirth. It was a long, joyous duet, for 
which Love beat time. 

When the sun sank low in the west, they entered the 
coach. Another pleasant day was over. The rattling 
of the windows, jarred by the jolting of the vehicle, 
prevented them from thinking enough to lapse into mel- 
ancholy ; and also the company, which was composed of 
happy lovers,, with the single exception of a very digni- 
fied gentleman who deemed it his duty to ask Robert if 
the report was true that, during the first few hours of 
the battle of Marengo, the Austrians had the advantage. 
Soon the houses of the Parisian suburbs appeared, then 
the Faubourgs, and finally the Palais-Royal. 


CHAPTER lY. 

IN WHICH SAINT-EEJANT EEVEALED HIS PLANS. 

There are psychological moments of which a poli- 
tician should know how to avail himself. 

Saint-Rejant believed that one of these periods had 
come. 

The external situation of Prance seemed to have im- 
proved in every direction. Austria and Germany had 
signed the treaty of peace. The northern powers were 
beginning to realize the desirability of resisting the 
maritime dominion of England. But on the other hand, 
within her frontiers, France was literally devastated by 
hundreds of bands of brigands scattered through Nor- 
mandy, Anjou, Maine, Brittany, Poitou, Tarn, Lozere, 
Avej^ron, Upper Garonne, Herault, Gard, Ardeche 
Drome, Yaucluse, Bouches-du-Rhone, the Upper and 
Lower Alps, and the Yar. These bands were joined by 
the assassins of the South, recruited from those who had 
rebelled against the conscription, the soldiers whom 
poverty had driven from thearmj^ of Liguria, and whose 
occupation consisted in killing without mercy the pur- 
chasers of national lands, when they resisted the tor- 
ture. The Consulate had made every effort to crush 
these assassins and brigands, but in vain; justice de- 
clared itself powerless, and witnesses refused to give 
testimony from fear of vengeance. 

While these crimes had taken place in the provinces, 
333 


SAINT-REJANT REVEALED HIS PLANS. 


.333 


the conspiracies organized in Paris became more and 
more numerous. There was a plan to assassinate 
the First Consul in his box at the opera, or to instigate 
an insurrection and profit by the disturbance to kill him, 
or to enter Malmaison at night, carry him off, and blow 
out his brains in some secret spot. Fouche was on the 
watch, but had to contend with Bonaparte himself, who, 
deaf to the representations which counselled him to 
chastise the Royalists for their boldness, obstinately in- 
sisted upon attributing the conspiracies to the Jacobins 
and Terrorists. 

Saint-Rejant, embracing the situation at a glance, 
had delayed the time of action, first because the mood 
of the provinces promised him a strong support in case 
of a general insurrection, secondly because it was ex- 
pedient and practical to profit by the time that the 
attention of the First Consul was exclusively directed 
toward the Revolutionists. 

The first day of Frimaire, he summoned Picot- 
Lemoelan, Carbon, and Kerouan to the Monkey’s 
Tavern. The landlord had received orders to close his 
house earlier than usual. The secret was to be revealed 
to no one except the three conspirators, not even to 
Georges Cadoudal, who, having returned from London, 
was directing the stage-robbers from a distance. No 
precaution v as to be neglected. The only danger was 
Kerouan, who offered very insufficient security, and 
whose mania for drink Saint-Rejant especially feared. 
Therefore he was under the surveillance of a member of 
the society, who had been ordered to make a daily re- 
port of his manner of employing his time. 

At ten o’clock in the evening, the four men met in 
front of a fire of vine faggots which lighted the room, 


334 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


It was cold and dark. The wind, blowing over the 
quay, howled at intervals like a lost dog. 

Carbon and Picot-Lemoelan sat before the hearth, 
bending forward and holding their hands out to the fire. 
Kerouan stood leaning against the wall, straining his 
ears in order not to lose a word of what Saint-Rejant 
was going to say, and summoning all the powers of his 
intellect to understand. 

Saint-Rejant remained for several moments, absorbed 
in profound thought, after which he'began : 

“ I had occasion recently to explain to you the neces- 
sity for striking a decisive blow. The object was to 
reach the First Consul by some sure means. Carbon, 
you knew Chevalier?” 

“At the time he was employed in the manufacture 
of weapons in Paris under the Convention.” 

“ An earnest and a brave man. Chevalier had 
thought of filling a cask with powder and grape-shot, 
and adding a gun-barrel with a trigger, which he 
pressed when Bonaparte passed. Heaven did not will 
that his design should succeed. Probably there were 
reasons for it. I have decided to take it up again.” 

“Improved?” asked Picot-Lemoelan. 

“Perfected. I shall use, as he did, the cask, the 
powder and the shot. I shall also add the gun-barrel, 
but an air-gun, so that the spectators could not distin- 
guish whence the report came. Finally I shall put the 
whole in a cart which will stand in the First Consul’s 
way.” 

“Who will discharge the gun?” asked Carbon. 

“ I. I claim the most dangerous post.” 

“You have deserved it,” said Picot-Lemoelan. “Of 
what use can we three others be?” 


SAINT-REJANT REVEALED HIS PLAHS. 335 

“ I will explain. Let us proceed in regular order. In 
the First Consul’s way, did I say? What way? A 
direction determined in advance. For two months, 
that is, ever since Bonaparte has occupied the Tuileries, 
for the upstart Corsican no longer refuses anything, the 
latter has not been once to the opera without my follow- 
ing his escort.” 

“ You might be recognized !” cried Carbon. 

“ By whom?” 

“ By his police, who have an eye upon us.” 

“Sharp as Fouche may be, he won’t catch the old 
fox, I tell you. Besides, I took sufficient precautions. 
Now,” he continued, “the itinerary is changeless. The 
next thing was to choose the most favorable place. The 
Rue Saint-Nicaise is narrow for the First Consul’s es- 
cort, and often choked. So that will be the best spot. 
My cart will compel the horses to move more slowly. 
The wheels of the carriage will brush against mine, and 
I will discharge the machine.” 

“Well planned,” remarked Picot-Lemoelan. 

“Perfect, indeed,” said Carbon. 

“What do you think of it, Kerouan?” asked Saint- 
Re j ant. 

“ I think that you were inspired on this occasion by 
the devil rather than by Our Lady of Brest. You 
know, the Madonna at whose feet our lovers at home 
make their betrothal vows? But what does that mat- 
ter? you will say. The goal is there. Goon.” 

“ To reach the Rue Saint-Nicaise and post the cart 
there is a good thing, but it isn’t all. I must be noti- 
fied by a signal the moment the carriage turns into the 
aforesaid street. It is necessary that a friend should be 
on the watch at the other end of the same street, to come 


336 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


to me in case flight in that direction should be impossi- 
ble. Lastly, some one must remain near me, to lend a 
strong hand if, after the deed is done, I should have to 
struggle against the police or the soldiers.” 

“Have you distributed the parts?” asked Picot- 
Lemoelan. 

“Everything is ready. You will inform me of the 
arrival of the escort.” 

“ How?” 

“ By a very simple method. Tie j^our handkerchief 
to the end of your cane and wave it, shouting: ‘Long 
live the Republic!’” 

“ Those words would never come from my throat.” 

“Your rage will force them out.^’ 

“And I?” said Carbon. 

“You will stand sentinel at the other end of the 
street. ” 

“And I?” inquired Kerouan in his turn. 

“You’ll prepare your fists and your teeth ready for 
any fray. Does that suit you?” 

“Yes, that suits me.” 

“You would be very hard to please, if it didn’t. I 
am giving you the second post.” 

“ The one where death is found?” 

“ Why should you find death, since I don’t expect to 
leave my skin there?” 

“ How will you manage that?” 

“ The machine will not explode as soon as the trigger 
is pulled, but — experience has proved this — thirty sec- 
onds after. That is the very reason Picot-Lemoelan’s 
signal is indispensable. Now, during these thirty sec- 
onds, we shall have ample time to escape through the 
door of the house in front of which the cart will be 


SAINT-KEJANT REVEALED HIS PLANS. 337 

stopped. This door — you see that I have neglected 
nothing — opens into a passage which leads to the street 
running parallel. We shall have the whole thickness 
of a block of houses to protect us. Are you reassured?” 

“ My contempt for death is at least equal to yours. 
Only I wish it to give me a few days’, perhaps a few 
weeks’ credit. I will tell you my reasons later, when 
the proper time comes. And come it will,” he added 
with a wicked laugh. 

“ One question more,” said Carbon. Who will drive 
the cart? His fate is sealed.” 

So it need not be one of us.” 

“Who would spare his life, Saint-Rejant, when 
throne and altar are at stake?” 

“The point in question is not saving a life. My 
reason is more serious and, above all, more practical.” 

“ I don’t understand.” 

“You will presently. After the crime, the first care 
of the police will be to pick up the driver’s body and 
try to ascertain his identity. If the corpse is one of us, 
the consulate will gain the certainty that the conspiracy 
has been organized by the Roj^alists. Now, we are all 
interested in letting it pursue the wrong scent, that is, 
to suppose that the Terrorists, if not the only foe, are at 
least the greatest.” 

“You are always right!” cried Picot-Lemoelan. 
“ But I don’t see how we are to find, among strangers to 
our cause, a man.” 

“I’ll attend to it!” interrupted Kerouan in a hollow 
tone. 

A few minutes after the accomplices separated, leav- 
ing Kerouan to his meditations. 

22 


CHAPTER V. 

FIRST PERFORMANCE OF HAYDN’S “CREATION.” 

The hall of the Opera House was radiant with light. 

The orchestra and the boxes were thronged with all 
the distinguished people in Paris. 

Garat himself was astonished and, armed with his 
glasses, came to the foot-lights to gaze at the concourse. 
His collar rose above his head, his monkey-face van- 
ished under a curled wig, indescribable and inimitable, 
his neck was swathed in four ells of white muslin form- 
ing a cravat. 

The occasion was one of twofold interest : the First 
Consul’s presence had been announced; besides, it was 
the first performance in France of Haydn’s “Creation,” 
arranged by Steibelt. The choruses of the Opera House 
and of Feydeau’s Theatre were to execute the parts to- 
gether. The soloists were Garat, Madame Bartier- 
Walbonne and Mademoiselle Branchu. 

“Quick, Junot!” 

Madame Junot was hurrying her husband, for Junot 
was now a married man. 

On his return from Egypt, Bonaparte had said to 
him : 

“Well, so you were foolish enough to let the English 
capture 5^ou? But, according to what you wrote from 
Marseilles, it seems that they expected you and, not- 
withstanding my positive orders, Kleber would not per- 
338 


HAYDN ’S “creation.” 


339 


mit you to leave. Now, what do you wish to do? I 
have always said that I would give you proofs of my 
friendship as soon as possible. Do you want me to send 
you to the army of the Rhine?” 

“So you desire to get rid of me, General,” replied 
J unot, who no longer used his former familiar style of 
address. “Yet, if you order me to go. I’ll show 
General Moreau that the officers of the Army of 
Italy have not forgotten their trade in the Army of 
Egypt.” 

“Ah, there you go off at half-cock. No, Monsieur 
Junot, you will not leave me. I’m very fond of 
Moreau, but not to the degree of giving him my best 
friends.” 

Then pulling his ear till he stretched it an inch, he 
added : 

“I am going to appoint you to the command of 
Paris.” 

“Me, General?” 

“Yes, you! And nobody else! It is a position of 
trust, especially just at this time; now, I cannot make a 
better choice. But you must consider before accepting 
it. You must grow ten years older, for the Commandant 
of Paris must be a man attached to my person ; it is 
equally necessary that he should possess extreme pru- 
dence and devote the utmost attention to everything 
connected with my safety. I am surrounded with dan- 
gers. I would not take a step to avoid them if I were 
still General Bonaparte, vegetating in Paris. But I no 
longer belong to myself. My destiny has been revealed 
to me; it is associated with that of a great nation. 
That is why my life is menaced. The European Pow- 
ers, which would gladly divide France, fear me in their 


340 


THE KOMAHOE OF THE SWORD. 


path. I am going to appoint you Commandant of 
Paris, but I require you to marry. It is proper, not 
only for the dignity of the position which you are to 
occupy, but I know you and exact it for your own 
interest.” 

“ Very well. General.” 

Upon this order, Junot set forth on his matrimonial 
quest. He was presented to Madame de Permon and 
said to her with military brevity : “ Will you give me 

your daughter? I love her, and believe I am able to 
render her as happy as a woman can be. ” The accept- 
ance took place. The next day Junot met Made- 
moiselle de Permon to order the trousseau at Mademoi- 
selles L ’Olive and Debeuvry. Mesdames Germain and 
Le Roy furnished the dresses and bonnets. Foncier set 
the diamonds. A month after, the wedding was 
solemnized. 

“Quick, Junot, I hear the first notes.” 

In fact, the violins had begun. The music was com- 
mencing. 

A violent explosion was heard. 

A murmur of astonishment ran through the hall. 

“Why are they firing cannon at this hour?” said 
J unot. 

“ Where are you going?” 

“ To ask an explanation.” 

“ Here is the First Consul.” 

The door of the First Consul’s box opened. Bona- 
parte appeared with Generals Lannes, Lauriston, Ber- 
thier, and Duroc, and bowed to the throng, now greeting 
him with cheers. A few minutes after Madame Bona- 
parte entered, accompanied by Colonel Rapp, Madame 
Murat, and Mademoiselle de Beauharnais. 


HAYDI^-’S “CREATIOK.” 


341 


Duroc took advantage of a fresh outburst of cheering 
to leave the Consul’s box and enter Junot’s. 

He looked pale, agitated, almost bewildered. 

“What has happened?” asked Junot. 

“The First Consul has just escaped death. Go to 
him. He wishes to talk frankly with you. It is im- 
possible that the thing should not be known here in fif- 
teen minutes. But he doesn’t want to have a hand in 
any event. So come with me. Give me your arm, for 
I am trembling. My first battle caused less emotion.” 

While Duroc and Junot were passing through the 
corridors, the orchestra continued to play. Garat, 
Madame Bartier- Walbonne, and Mademoiselle Branchu 
were scarcely heard. All eyes turned toward the First 
Consul, who impassively bore the gaze of the multitude. 
Soon individuals began to talk together. A murmur 
rose, swelling in volume, from pit to orchestra and from 
orchestra to boxes. 

“ The First Consul has just been attacked in the Rue 
Saint-Nicaise !” 

The news was no longer a secret to any on-e. As it 
circulated, Madame Bonaparte, who hitherto had re- 
mained calm, became agitated, shivered, and shrank 
under her shawl as if seeking shelter. The tears she 
vainly strove to force back coursed down her pallid 
cheeks. Her daughter was soon affected by her emo- 
tion, and the contagion spread to the audience, which 
rose en masse, shouting : 

“ Long live General Bonaparte !” 

Meanwhile Junot had returned to his box. 

“Well?” said Madame Junot. 

“ Go home with your mother at once. When you 
have left her there, ask her to lend you her carriage to 


342 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORH. 


take you to Madame Bonaparte’s. I will be there to 
meet you.” 

The oratorio having been interrupted, the spectators 
gradually left the hall. 

The First Consul and his suite had set out on their 
return to the Tuileries. 


CHAPTER VI. 

BONAPARTE AND FOUCHE. 

“ W ELL ! Fouche, here is a pretty piece of business ! 
Do you know that Josephine barely escaped ! She was 
just getting into the carriage, when Rapp mentioned 
that her shawl did not suit her dress. She went back 
up the Staircase of Flora to change it, which occupied 
three minutes, thus delaying her carriage, which was to 
have followed close behind mine. But for those three 
minutes, she would have been blown up.” 

“And you. Citizen First Consul?” 

“ Junot also narrowly escaped. On coming from the 
Minister of War’s, he ordered his coachman to drive to 
the Opera House. At the Carrousel he happened to 
think that I had not yet started and he might join me 
at the Tuileries. He told his coachman to go there, but 
the latter, having his hands full with two spirited 
horses, vainly tried to check them before reaching the 
Rue Saint-Nicaise. But for this accident, as he would 
not have had a seat in my carriage, since I had my 
aide-de-camp with me, but followed it, his equipage 
would have been in the detachment of the guard and his 
earthly account settled.” 

“But you. Citizen First Consul?” 

“Oh! I escaped by an equally providential chance. 
The squad which formed my escort preceded and fol- 
lowed my carriage. One of the men in front, seeing a 
343 


344 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


cart obstructing the way, shouted to the driver, or 
rather the driveress, for it was a young girl, to move 
aside. Concealed by the corner of a paling, the latter 
did not hear. The trooper struck the mare a blow on 
the back with the flat of his sword, and the animal 
moved out of the way itself, advancing several steps, 
which sufficed to disarrange the cord apparently in- 
tended to start the apparatus for producing the explosion. 
An uncertain interval of time elapsed, during which 
my carriage had turned into the Rue de Malta and 
thence into the Rue Richelieu. But we have said 
enough of myself. How many victims are there?” 

“Thirty killed.” 

“Are they known?” 

“First there was the young girl who drove the cart.” 

“What is her name?” 

“We do not know.” 

“Did she have nothing on her person which could 
serve to identify her?” 

“ The head was found in one place, the trunk in an- 
other, and the limbs still farther.” 

“ Who else?” 

“ The mistress of the Apollo restaurant. Both breasts 
were torn off by a fragment of iron which cut her chest 
open. Two waiters in the same establishment. The 
others were curious spectators. Lastly ” 

“Why do you hesitate?” 

“ Because I know the sorrow I shall inflict upon you. 
Citizen First Consul.” 

“Speak.” 

“Lastly, one of your officers, a lieutenant.” 

“ What was his name?” 

“ Robert.” 


BONAPAKTE AITD FOUCHE. 


345 


“ Robert ! A brave fellow ! He was recommended to 
me by a Madame Pichoux, the mistress of the Three 
Mile-Stones. You don’t understand. Robert! He was 
in Italy, Egypt, at Marengo! What was the wound?” 

“ His breast was torn open.” 

“ The ruffians ! What else? That isn’t all? Speak.” 

“ A letter addressed to you was found on his body.” 

“ To me? Why didn’t you say so before? Have you 
the letter?” 

“Here it is.” 

Bonaparte snatched rather than took it from the hands 
of the minister of police, and read aloud : 

“ General : 

“ This letter is addressed to you in case I should be 
found dead, either on a battle-field or as the result of 
accident. 

“ When you did me the honor of accepting me among 
your brave soldiers, you asked my name. ‘Robert,’ I 
answered. ‘Robert what?’ you added. ‘Just Robert,’ 
I replied. 

“General, the time has come to confess the truth. 
My real name is Jean. I am the natural child of Count 
d’Availlac ” 

“Count d’Availlac’s son! Oh, Fouche, Fouche! 
Count d’Availlac was a nobleman who wished to die 
for France. It was from him that I had the sword of 
Henri IV. He commended his son to my care with his 
last breath. I did everything in my power to find him. 
Then the progress of events drew me away from France. 
Cares of all kinds have absorbed my attention ! And it 
is his son who has been killed by these wretches !” 

“ Why did Lieutenant Robert conceal his real name?” 

“Perhaps the res.t of the letter will inform us.” 


346 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


He went on : 

“ Pardon me for having told you a falsehood, General. 
But had I a right to boast of a relationship which my 
father probably considered it necessary to conceal, since 
he not only never recognized me, but gave me no tid- 
ings of him? Jean.” 

“ Lieutenant Robert must be avenged. Who are the 
criminals?” 

“ Only one has escaped us.” 

“Speak quickly, Fouche.” 

“Citizen General, last Brumaire, I was told that 
Georges, on returning from England ” 

“Always England?” 

“Always, Citizen Consul.” 

“I was told that Georges, on his return from Eng- 
land, had brought plans of assassination and guineas to 
embolden and pay the murderers. Those who came to 
Paris to prepare for and consummate the crime had been 
described to me. Until the 15th Frimaire, the police 
heard their words and watched their footsteps.” 

“Why were they not arrested?” 

“Because we wanted to seize them with proofs of 
criminality. Otherwise, we should have been accused 
of making arrests on suspicion or on false charges.” 

“That is true.” 

“The authors of the crime of the 3d Nivose, all 
agents of Georges Cadoudal ” 

“When he finished his course of philosophy at the 
college of Vannes, he was a Revolutionist, I am in- 
formed. And since! Go on, Fouche, go on. Don’t 
mind my interruptions.” 

“ The authors of the crime of the 3d Nivose, all agents 


BOKAPARTE AKD FOUCHE. 347 

of Georges, appeared successively in Paris. One Picot- 
Lemoelan arrived on the 20th.” 

“ Picot-Lemoelan ! I know that name. An agent of 
Count d’Artois?” 

“They all are, Citizen First Consul.” 

“ That’s true. Then a man named Carbon ” 

“Surnamed Petit-Frangoisf^ 

“ Precisely.” 

“ The inseparable companion of this Picot-Lemoelan. 
I learned these names a few months after the siege of 
Toulon. The affair is no recent one, as you see.” 

“ It dates from seven years ago. ” 

“Only?” 

“ From 1793 to ” 

“ To 1800 ! What a long road to be traversed in seven 
years! Seven years! How many events, battles ” 

“And victories!” 

“ And I should have fallen ignominiously by an in- 
fernal machine ! A few bits of lead in a cask would 
have accomplished more than all the bullets of Marengo ! 
The fools ! True, Fouche, Count d’Availlac’s son had 
escaped the balls of the Austrians — Besides Petit- 
Frangoisf^ 

“ The most terrible of all: Saint-Rejant.” 

“ Sain t-Rej ant ! I have not forgotten that man. He 
tried to assassinate Count d’Availlac at Toulon. Saint- 
Rejant! Ah! you have Saint-Rejant! An excellent 
capture! We’ll see what mien the jackal will assume 
in the presence of his masters ! The tool of the princes ! 
Bigot and thief ! Brigand into the bargain ! Finally, 
my personal enemy ! Guard him closely ! He is a man 
to break his bonds. Who is the fourth?” 

“A fellow named Kerouan, a stupid brute. He is 


348 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


incapable of planning. He must have served Saint- 
Re j ant as a slave.” 

“Those men are sometimes the most dangerous.” 

“Therefore we have no intention of treating him 
more gently than the others.” 

“ So these are the four wretches who nearly blew up a 
quarter of Paris. And the idea germinated in their 
brains without bursting them.” 

“ All three — Kerouan did not come until long after — 
hesitated a long time about the choice of means. They 
first bought of a certain Bourin, an armorer in the 
Palais-Egalite, an outfit of weapons for fifty pounds, 
which weapons they tried several times in the Bois de 
Boulogne. A few days later they purchased air-guns. 
Finally at a meeting held at the Monkey’s Tavern, 
they decided upon the infernal machine suggested by 
Chevalier’s.” 

“ The plagiarists !” 

“ From that moment, my men never lost sight of them 
in order to keep informed of their movements up to the 
moment I issued the order for arrest. Unfortunately, 
the evening before, without consulting me, the Prefect 
of Police committed the imprudence of making a cap- 
ture, important it is true, but one which gave the 
alarm. The next morning, my four conspirators had 
vanished from their homes.” 

“And the explosion took place. Go on.” 

“ The first efforts of the police, in this condition of 
affairs, were directed to the discovery of the relations 
existing between what they knew of the conspiracies of 
England and of Georges, and the traces left in the Rue 
Saint-Nicaise after the crime. The confusion produced 
was very great. The relics of the deed seemed to have 


BONAPARTE AND FOUCHE. 


349 


been effaced or carried away by the violence of the ex- 
plosion. However, all the remnants were preserved 
and examined, and we soon obtained more light from 
them than we had hoped. On the 4th Nivose I had an 
exact description of the mare harnessed to the cart 
posted in the streets, and on the 6th a man named Lam- 
bel, a dealer in seeds, recognized her as one he had sold, 
with the cart, on the 25th Frimaire, for 700 francs, to a 
person whom he described. On the 8th of the same 
month a certain Thomas, a hackney driver, and his 
wife, stated that the mare and cart had been brought on 
the aforesaid 25th Frimaire, about seven o’clock in the 
evening, to a stable belonging to a house where they 
lived in the Rue de Paradis. The husband described 
the three individuals who brought the horse and the 
cart, and the wife a fourth person who joined them, 
giving long details of what they had done in the stable 
until the 3d Nivose at half-past five in the evening.” 

What did these individuals call themselves?” 

“Peddlers going to Laval to sell brown sugar.” 

“Goon.” 

“ On the 17th a man named Brunet came himself to 
give me information about the clothing worn by the 
purchaser of the horse and cart, whom he had seen five 
times in three days, and with whom he had drunk the 
six francs’ worth of wine to close the bargain. The 
person described was evidently Frangois-Jean Carbon, 
surnamed Petit- Frangois, who during the year in Ven- 
dee had fought under Chatillon and Bourmont.” 

Bonaparte made a sign of assent. 

“ I succeeded in learning that Carbon had a sister 
living in the Rue Saint-Martin, at the corner of the 
boulevard, on the sixth floor, and that her name was 


350 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWOKD. 


Catharine- Jean Carbon, wife of Alexander Vallon. A 
commissary of police arrested the woman Vallon and 
her two daughters in their home, where he found a cask 
half filled with very fine powder (there are about twelve 
pounds) some cartridges, and the garments worn for a 
disguise. Catharine Vallon would tell nothing. The 
older daughter, becoming frightened, furnished sufficient 
information. Two hours after. Carbon was arrested in 
the Rue Notre- Dame-des-Champs, No. 144, at a Madame 
Duquesne’s, the mother superior of the ex-nuns of Saint- 
Michel. On being questioned, he at first attempted to 
deny the crime, but ended by confessing it and even 
naming his accomplices.” 

“ How can a man be so daring and yet so cowardly !” 

“ The phenomenon is frequent among criminals. Citi- 
zen Consul. The 29th Nivose, I searched the house of 
a widow Jourdan in the Rue d’ Aguesseau, where I found 
the clothes and linen of Saint-Rejant, to whom the wo- 
man admitted having rented a room. But from the 
day of the crime, Saint-Rejant has vanished. Mean- 
while an anonymous letter reached me stating that he 
must have sought refuge with a Demoiselle de Cire. 
I searched the latter’s residence, where I found some let- 
ters written from Hamburg, signed Musse & Co. , and 
addressed to a man named Lazare- Beche, formerly a 
servant of the Bishop of Auxerre, and others from the 
camp of Conde and from London. I set a trap into 
which my Saint-Rejant fell. He did not attempt to 
defend himself a moment.” 

“And Picot-Lemoelan?” 

“ He has fled.” 

“ So much the worse. And the other, the fourth?” 

“ Kerouan? He gave himself up voluntarily.” 


BONAPARTE AND FOUCHE. 


351 


“Remorse of conscience?” 

“I don’t know. One can get nothing out of him. 
The more he is urged, the more obstinate is his silence.” 

“ When will the trial take place?” 

“ Next week.” 

“I thank you, Fouche. The judges and the jury 
will not spare them, if I can trust public opinion. I 
will soon see you again.” 

The minister of police made a low bow and retired. 

The First Consul remembered the measures adopted 
by his orders against the hundred and thirty Jacobins, 
the change made in his policy by the assassination of 
Paul I., and he was already preparing to use the same 
severity against the Royalist party as he had done in 
regard to the Terrorists and the English, when his 
secretary brought him a document to sign : it was to 
approve the nomination of Cardinal Chiaramente, under 
the title of Pius VII. 


CHAPTER VII. 
kerouan’s disclosures. 

Paris was in a state of turmoil on the day which 
witnessed the opening of the arguments in the case of 
the authors of the crime of the Rue Saint-Nicaise. 

Never had any trial caused such excitement among 
all parties. 

The Republicans asked themselves whether justice 
would be meted out as rigorously to the Royalists as it 
had been to the Jacobins. 

The Royalists were anxious to learn what attitude 
the jury would take in a case which they regarded as 
essentially political. The First Consul’s partisans de- 
manded an example severe enough to stop continual 
conspiracies and a system of opposition which daily 
menaced the lives and property of the citizens. 

Precisely at noon the jurymen were in their places : 
the court entered. 

The appearance of the prisoners awakened a stir 
among the spectators. 

Carbon, surnamed Petit- Frangois, sat quietly casting 
a look of defiance at the spectators. He did not deceive 
himself as to his fate. If he must die, it was better to 
show his courage from the beginning. Perhaps there 
was a touch of affectation in his bearing. 

Kerouan, whom we have already seen gain fresh 
youth on the day Saint-Rejant accepted his services, 


KEEOUAlSr’S DISCLOSURES. 


353 


appeared completely transformed. The brute had be- 
come a man. He seemed to revel in the delight of an 
individual who has attained a long-desired goal. What 
was this goal? Perhaps the trial would reveal. Saint- 
Rejant was the same Saint-Rejant whom we saw in 
London present himself to Count d’ Artois, but with the 
burden of the years that had passed, and we know that, 
in his case, they had counted double. His attitude of 
contemptuous pride recalled that which he had assumed 
in saying to the prince from the height of his convic- 
tions : 

“ So we waste time in theatrical talk while the king is 
guillotined, thrones crumble, and God is insulted !” His 
eyes rested on the judges or roved over the audience 
with a scornful glance. He was like a muzzled wild 
beast. 

The examination of witnesses for and against the 
prisoners consumed the first part of the day. All were 
produced who had been directly or indirectly connected 
with the conspiracy; among them, besides those who 
had supplied the mare and the cart, were old Lam- 
bert, the landlord of the Monkey’s Tavern, who had 
known Louis XV. when a child; Catharine Vallon, 
Carbon’s sister, and her two daughters; Madame Du- 
quesne, the mother superior of the nuns of Saint-Michel, 
at whose house Carbon was arrested ; Mademoiselle de 
Cire, etc., etc. 

Carbon did not defend himself. 

Saint-Rejant rose and, after answering the judge’s 
questions, declared his belief in royalty in a tone whose 
firmness, in the eyes of some persons, might pass for 
heroism. 

At last Kerouan’s turn came, 

33 


354 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWOED. 


The multitude is attracted by everything that has a 
savor of mystery. The sad fate of the young girl who 
drove the cart, the powerlessness of the police to ascer- 
tain her identity; the report that Kerouan would make 
disclosures on the day of his appearance, had given the 
case the interest of a romance, rather than of a political 
affair. They knew what to expect from Carbon and 
Saint-Kejant ; Kerouan appeared like a deus ex ma- 
chind. 

“Your name is Kerouan?” the judge began. 

“ No.” 

“You were arrested under that name?” 

“ Yes. It was an assumed one.” 

“ Why did you wait until now to admit it?” 

“I have my reasons.” 

“ What are they?” 

“You will know presently.” 

“ Are you prepared to give the court your real name?” 

“Yes.” 

“We are listening.” 

“ I must go back twenty years. ” 

“ In a matter so important as that which has brought 
you and your accomplices here, there are no insignificant 
details. Speak. We are listening.” 

Kerouan passed his hand through his hair and beard, 
then gradually straightening himself, as if every word 
he uttered was one burden the less, he said : 

“ Gentlemen of the jury, twenty years ago there lived 
at Brest a sailor named Yvan Lomedec. Isn’t that 
true, Saint-Kejant?” 

“Prisoner,” interrupted the judge, “do not question 
your fellow-prisoner.” 

“Very well. The thing is, you see, that he knows 


kekouan’s disclosures. 


355 


the beginning of the story, but not the end. One day, 
Catharine the Wise — Saint-Rejant knows that, too — 
ran off with a lover and became a mother. Lomedec, 
on returning, heard of her sin. Catharine died of grief, 
leaving a daughter, whom Lomedec took away with 
him.” 

Kerouan paused. 

Saint- Rejant was fairly hanging on his lips. 

Kerouan enjoyed his anxiety, knowing how he 
suffered. 

“ Lomedec hated this girl because she reminded him 
of her mother’s infidelity and her father’s illicit love, 
because she was the living proof of a crime; hated 
her so much that, though his nature was good, he 
became evil, and from a brave man was transformed 
into a coward. He made the child his drudge and 
victim.” 

“ Do not wander from the subject, prisoner,” said the 
judge. 

“Oh, no! you shall soon judge for yourself. Yet 
great as was Lomedec’s hatred of this accursed child, 
his heart was large enough to contain another, still 
deeper, fiercer and more bloody, against the wretch who 
had led his wife astray and forever destroyed his happi- 
ness and his life. This wretch, whom I denounce to 
the public prosecutor as well as to the vengeance of the 
triune God in whom I believe, bears the name of Saint- 
Re j ant.” 

A murmur ran through the throng. 

Saint-Rejant could not endure the charge with com- 
posure. 

“So you are Lomedec?” 

“You have been a long Avhile guessing it, robber! 


356 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWOKD. 


Yes, gentlemen, my real name is Yvan Lomedec. This 
is the name under which I ask to be executed.” 

Several minutes passed, during which the listeners 
became more and more excited; murmurs rose into loud- 
voiced conversations. 

The judge ordered silence. 

“Go on, Lomedec.” 

“ I will. I no longer thought of anything except the 
satisfaction of this revenge. For years and years, 
whenever intoxication — for I drank td stupefy myself — 
whenever intoxication left my brain clear for a brief 
interval, I reflected how I could And my foe. I was on 
the point of yielding to despair when, one da}", after 
having deserted the child, through weariness and pov- 
erty, chance having brought me to the Monkey’s Tav- 
ern, I learned that Saint- Re jant was conspiring there. 
I had my man. He gave me an interview. He had 
never seen me and my name of Kerouan could awaken 
no memory. At first he did not wish to enlist me. I 
told him that I had known Yvan Lomedec and was 
aware of the residence of Catharine’s daughter. He 
entreated me to tell him. I imposed the condition that 
he should accept me as an accomplice, and to be more 
secure of him, added that he should not have the young 
girl’s address until the morning after the crime. Thus 
I became a conspirator.” 

“ Your contempt for men and things should have made 
you inform the authorities. That was a way for Yvan 
Lomedec to revenge himself upon his wife’s lover.” 

“ I thought of it, since it was solely for the sake of 
delivering him up to justice that I consented to become 
a conspirator and a traitor ; but to surrender him at the 
beginning did not satisfy my vengeance.” 


kerouak’s disclosures. 


357 


« Why?” 

“ Because, had Saint-Rejant been denounced as con- 
spiring against the life of Bonaparte, they would have 
exiled him. I know the man. 

“ He would soon have escaped and, while evading the 
police, avoided me too. What I desired was that he 
should accomplish the crime, so that I could have his 
life at my disposal.” 

Saint-Rejant and Carbon, surnamed Petit- Francois y 
started up, exclaiming : 

Scoundrel !” 

“ Traitor !” 

Yvan Lomedec gazed at them a few seconds, and 
then said in a faltering tone : 

“ Petit- Frangois, I entreat your pardon.” 

After his fellow-prisoners had been ordered to sit 
down, Yvan Lomedec went on : 

“ Besides, I w’as to have the opportunity for an unex- 
pected revenge, worse than the scaffold. Saint-Rejant 
had commissioned me to find a driver for the cart. 
Why did a man usually so suspicious and cautious com- 
mit such an error ? In order not to have the responsibility 
of the death of an innocent person. He did not tell me 
so, but dull as I may be, I understood it. So I went in 
search of a driver. While thus engaged one night, on 
leaving the Monkey’s Tavern, I found myself in front 
of the Three Mile-Stones, the restaurant in the Rue de 
Valois. I looked up, and saw a young girl, framed by a 
lighted window. I went up to it, and, as she could not 
recognize me in the darkness outside, I told her that I 
had an urgent letter from her lover. She came out. I 
sprang upon her, gagged her, and dragged her away. 
My resolution was formed. I would conceal her and 


358 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


set her free on one condition only : her consent to drive 
the mare to the Rue Saint-Nicaise.” 

“ I remember the disappearance of this young girl, who 
was under the charge of a man named Pichoux. All 
the efforts made by the police to find her have been futile. 
What induced you to choose her for so terrible a task?” 

“You will soon know. I took her to a quarry where 
I often slept, made myself known to her, and said : ‘I 
expect you to obey me blindly until to-morrow. On 
that condition only, I will renounce all pursuit of you 
in future.’” 

“By what right did you speak to her in that way? 
Why did she listen to you? It would be natural to 
struggle, shriek, call for help.” 

“ By what right? All that will be made clear. The 
next afternoon I opened a package which contained a 
peasant woman’s costume, and made the girl put it on. 
The hour having come, I said to her: ‘There is a cart 
below containing a cask of wine You are to drive it 
to the Rue Saint-Nicaise and stop at the place which I 
shall point out, for I shall walk in front. The task is 
not a heavy one. It will not injure your vanity, since 
3^ou cannot* be recognized.’ That wars really true; her 
head was hidden under a marmotte, and her face was 
concealed by a chin-piece. We set out. On reaching 
the spot appointed we waited for Saint-Rejant. He 
came, took me aside, and said: ‘Why, you have 
brought a woman?’ ‘No,’ I answered, ‘it’s a joung 
blackguard, who was willing to disguise himself for the 
sake of a crown.’ He was about to say something 
more, but at that moment Picot-Lemoelan gave the sig- 
nal announcing the approach of the Consul’s carriage. 
You know the rest.” 


kerouan’s disclosures. 


359 


Then turning to Saint-Rejant, with eyes starting from 
their sockets and lips white with foam, he cried : 

“ Saint-Rejant, the young girl, who hitherto had 
passed for Kerouan’s daughter, was legally Yvan Lom- 
edec’s and naturally yours.” 

At this revelation, Saint-Rejant uttered a roar like a 
wild beast’s, clutched at the empty air, and fell pros- 
trate. 

Yvan Lomedec, enjoying his vengeance, passed his 
tongue over his lips, like a tiger that has tasted blood. 

The spectators were fairly stupefied. 

The jury went out to deliberate. 

Half an hour later, the court having returned, the 
judge read: 

“ The court, having considered the verdict of the 
jury, having heard the commissioner of the government 
concerning the application of the law, the judges having 
given their opinion in conformity with the law — 

“ Whereas there results from the verdict of the jury 
in point of fact: That a conspiracy aiming at the mur- 
der of the First Consul has existed; that a mass of 
powder, grapeshot, bullets, and stones were used in the 
execution of this plot ; that these materials formed an 
infernal machine ; that this machine was made for the 
execution of the aforesaid conspiracy, by Saint-Rejant, 
Carbon (surnamed Petit- Frangois) , and Yvan Lome- 
dee, convicted of having taken part in this plot for the 
purpose of facilitating its execution : 

“ Whereas in point of law, a conspiracy aimed at the 
murder of the Chief Magistrate of the Republic is a 
crime against public authority, tending to disturb the 
State by a civil war, by arming the citizens against one 
another and against the exercise of legitimate authority : 


360 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“ Whereas murder has been committed : 

“The aforesaid Saint-Rejant, Carbon, and Yvan 
Lomedec are condemned to death. 

“ It is ordered in accordance with Article 4, of Title I. 
of the first part of the Penal Code, thus worded: 
‘Whoever shall have been condemned to death for the 
crime of murder, arson, or poisoning, shall be. taken to 
the place of execution clad in a red shirt ; the parricide 
shall have his face and head veiled with black stuff, 
which will not be removed until the moment of execu- 
tion, that the aforesaid Saint-Rejant, Carbon, and Yvan 
Lomedec shall be taken to the place of execution clad in 
red shirts.” 

Having read the sentence, the judge addressed the 
prisoners : 

“ The law grants you three days to appeal against the 
sentence which has just been pronounced.” 

Carbon smiled. 

Yvan Lomedec bowed his head. 

Saint-Rejant, who had recovered his consciousness, 
said firmly : 

“ I ask to be executed in twenty-four hours. ” 


PAET FOUETH. 

THE DUKE HENGHIEN. 


CHAPTER I. 

IN WHICH MONSIEUR DE TALLEYRAND APPEARS ON 
THE SCENE. 

In spite of Bonaparte’s care to have himself appointed 
Consul for life in order to draw nearer to the throne 
which he was already accused of coveting, his new title, 
far from availing to protect him from fresh dangers, 
was to expose him to the gravest ones. According to 
intelligence received in Paris, Count d’ Artois was going 
to trust to the efforts of the emigrants and the Chouans 
who were still faithful to his fortunes, and who soon 
obtained more subsidies from England. The 2d Fruc- 
tidor in the year XI., the 30th Frimaire and the 25th 
Nivosein the year XII., Georges Cadoudal, Picot-Le- 
moelan, the escaped criminal. Coster Saint- Victor and 
Joyau, grouped with twenty other Chouans, the Mar- 
quis de Riviere, the two brothers Amand and Jules de 
Polignac, lastly Pichegru, who had escaped from Cay- 
enne, disembarked under cover of the night in Nor- 
mandy and Brittany for the purpose of assassinating 
the First Consul aifd establishing a new government. 
The discovery of the conspiracy cost the lives of Georges 
361 


362 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


Cadoudal, his brother Pierre- Jean Cadoudal, Louis Du- 
corps, Louis Picot, Coster Saint-Victor, Joyau, Mercier, 
Lelan, Merille and Roger. Pichegru strangled himself 
in his prison. 

During the course of the trial, Georges had let fall a 
remark. One of the former French princes, he had 
said, was to arrive in Paris. When reported to Bona- 
parte, this sentence was commented upon and the name 
of the Duke d’Enghien was uttered. From that day 
the Duke d’Enghien appeared to him in the horizon like 
a cloud big with storms in an apparently calm sky. 

One day when sitting at the table where he had 
dined, just as he finished his coffee. Monsieur de Talley- 
rand was announced. 

The arrival of the ex-bishop, ex-minister of foreign 
affairs of the Consulate after having been minister of 
foreign relations of the Directory, interrupted the Con- 
sul in his meditations. He invited him to sit down and 
asked abruptly, with the manner of a man who is an- 
noyed by being disturbed in the study of his thoughts: 

“ What brings you here?” 

“ Citizen Consul, every day statements are transmitted 
to me, coupled with rumors of fresh plots against your 
person by the Chouans, who are watching for an oppor- 
tunity to accomplish the assassination Georges was 
unable to consummate.” 

“ They have tried to blow me up by means of a bar- 
rel of powder ; they have attempted to kill me on the 
highway; I am incessantly menaced by infernal ma- 
chines, air-guns, conspiracies, ambushes of every de- 
scription. Do the Bourbons believe that they can shed 
my blood like that of the meanest animal ! It is worth 
as much as theirs ! I have never personally injured any 


DE TALLEYRAND APPEARS ON THE SCENE. 363 

of them. I will return to them the terror with which 
they strive to inspire me. I will have the first one of 
their race who falls into my hands shot without mercy.” 

“It is indeed time to put an end to such horrible 
crimes, to give a fresh lesson to those who have made 
it a daily habit to conspire against your life. The only 
way of ending it will be to shed the blood of a prince.” 

“And who, in your opinion, should this prince be?” 

“ The Duke d’Enghien.” 

Bonaparte started. 

“ The Duke d’Enghien !” he murmured. “ God is my 
witness that, if I had yielded only to my own interest, 
a supreme interest, I should have had him arrested long 
ago ! I have hesitated, felt remorse. Besides, I scarcely 
know this Duke d’Enghien. The Revolution claimed 
me when ver}^ young. I did not go to court.” 

“ I can teach you to know him.” 

“ True. You have seen so many things and so many 
men. Speak, Talleyrand.” 

“Citizen Consul, in 1791, the first effort of the 
princes, you know this as well as I, was to raise an 
armyi which they entrusted to Conde. If Conde’s object 
had been solely to recruit Frenchmen, rally them around 
his standard, and open a breach through which royalty 
might pass, history would not have been too rigorous 
concerning him.” 

“ Do you think so?” 

Monsieur de Talleyrand did not seem to hear him. 

“ But his intention already was to act in concert with 
the foreign foe.” 

“As in the religious wars! Henri IV. and the Ger- 
mans, Mayenne and the Spaniards, the troubles of the 
Fronde, Turenne, and the other Conde !” 


364 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“From 1793 to 1795, Conde fought with Austria, at 
the side of Wurmser, being field marshal, as his son, 
the Duke of Bourbon, was major-general, and his grand- 
son, the Duke d’Enghien, major. With the noble 
infantry the latter carried the fortified bridge of Jockrim 
and took six cannon. Later, before Pichegru’s treason, 
we see this same Duke d’Enghien, at the head of the 
first division of noble cavalry, cut a Republican regi- 
ment into pieces. Some time after, the duke, hearing 
of the plan of the affray of Quiberon, wrote this charm- 
ing letter, which fell into my hands: ‘Are you not 
accustomed to delays, dear papa? Do 3 ^ou not know 
that vessels do not come when wanted, like hacks? Do 
you not know that in politics tardiness is fashionable, 
and that nothing is more simple than to arrive a fort- 
night later than one would have been expected? I hope 
that you will accomplish much. All France has fixed 
its eyes upon la Vendee. The English always try to do 
what they can to hasten operations. I have just been told 
that you had embarked on the 25th. Well, a fair wind 
and a good voyage. Sail straight for the coast. ’ Sev- 
eral months after, Wurmser having entered Mannheim, 
and the French garrison having laid down its arms, the 
duke again wrote to his dear papa: ‘We hope not to 
be inactive on our side. Upper Alsace is without 
troops, the cities are not supplied with provisions and 
lack artillery. The opportunity is favorable !’ In 1796, 
having obtained from his grandfather the command of 
the vanguard of the corps, the duke fought (Archduke 
Charles had replaced Wurmser) at Esslingen against 
Moreau, at Frankfort against Jourdan. ‘I fired’ — these 
are his own words — ‘more than sixty times with grape- 
shot at two battalions which were charging up with the 


DE TALLEYRAN'D APPEARS OK THE SCEKE. 365 

bayonet. Each discharge made a gap twenty paces 
wide!’ ” 

Monsieur de Talleyrand paused to note the effect pro- 
duced upon Bonaparte. 

The Consul sat with his head bent and his eyes fixed 
upon the toes of his boots. 

“Go on, Talleyrand.” 

“In 1798, the Duke d’Enghien was in the pay of 
Russia, at the head of a regiment of dragoons bearing 
the colors of the house of Conde, which he soon led to 
Poland. He asked permission to go to the aid of the 
King of Naples on receiving news that Rome was re- 
taken by the French. Circumstances sent him to 
Switzerland, where Korsakoff ordered him to take Con- 
stance. The opportunities of fighting against France 
becoming rarer, he resolved to apply to our worst ene- 
mies, the foes of our native land and our renown, the 
English. It would be very agreeable to him — these are 
again his own words — to enter the service of England. 
You have had in your hands. Citizen Consul, his letters 
to the English agent, Wickham. England being un- 
able to refuse such a recruit, the Duke d’Enghien was 
engaged in 1800. At one time he thought he could land 
on the coast of Languedoc at the head of a British 
troop. England sent him to Styria, Carinthia, Vene- 
tian Friuli. Finally on the 31st of May, 1801, the army 
of Conde saw its last day. Abandoned by all the hos- 
tile powers at whose expense he had lived, the Prince 
de Conde set out for Vienna with the Duke d’Enghien, 
who, a short time after, settled at Ettenheim.” 

“ He is being watched, I suppose?” 

“ And so carefully that I could tell you what he does 
day by day. The duke began by carefully studying the 


366 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWOKD. 


general situation of Europe. He has disclosed to his 
intimate friends, whose names Fouche and I have, his 
plans for the future. At the moment you were asking 
the cabinet of London why the English did not evacuate 
Alexandria and Malta, he was maintaining a secret cor- 
respondence with George III., at the same time that he 
watched with interest plans of action in the East; plans 
upon which it is my duty to insist. Citizen Consul.” 

For some minutes Bonaparte had confronted Talley- 
rand. The conversation was taking so interesting a 
turn that he was not sorry to probe the speaker’s con- 
science with his eagle glance, that he might be sure he 
was not yielding to some secret design other than the 
advantage of France and the Consulate. But the con- 
jecture of a conspiracy in the East once stated he eagerly 
entertained it. This time he was interested, captivated. 

“Insist, Talleyrand.” 

“ If I go back to the period of your measure against 
Louis XVIlI., I see the Duke d’Enghien declaring that 
you are going to seize the opportunity to avenge your- 
self for the Bourbon’s refusal. Believing himself in a 
position of legitimate defense, he loudly cries out for 
war and prepares for a demonstration in the East. 
Permit me to read this extract from a letter to him, 
written by the Prince de Conde and seized by my agents 
while on its way: ‘You must have seen by my former 
letters that we were very far from forgetting you ; so be 
at ease, your position is perfect ; but beware of spoiling 
it by imprudences, by premature haste, know how to 
wait. I am well aware that this is not the easiest task, 
even at my age, far more at yours ; but consider that 
we must not make victims (there have been only too 
many). Kely upon us to advise you what is to be done. ’ 


DE TALLEYRAND APPEARS ON THE SCENE. 3G7 

That is explicit enough. It shows that the princes ex- 
pected him to enter Alsace and secure the triumph of 
the legitimate monarchy. One month after this letter 
was written we see him assembling a half-score of 
noblemen and commissioning two of them to inform the 
English cabinet of the dissatisfaction of the neighbor- 
ing troops on the Rhine, on the pretext that the garrison 
of Schlestadt had publicly drunk the king’s health, and 
that the 9th Hussars, encamped at Colmar, was com- 
posed of aristocrats. A week passed ; he maintained re- 
lations with the chiefs of the Swiss people who were 
angered by the enrolment of sixteen thousand of their 
men in the French armies. These party leaders W€>re 
named Rodolphe d’Erlach, Bachmann, and Aloys 
Roding. ‘You would see me in that country with 
pleasure, ’ we read in another letter, the rough draft of 
which was stolen at Ettenheim. ‘It might serve as a 
rendezvous for well-disposed people who might wish to 
join me there ; and I think I could answer for it that if 
a point of support were seen and pay could be certain, 
this germ would grow visibly. ’ ” 

“This germ will choke him,” murmured Bonaparte. 

“ That is not all. The Duke d’Eughien does not fear 
to cross the frontier and enter Strasbourg.” 

“Are you sure of it?” 

“Absolutely. He has been recognized there three 
times in the month of Nivose. The last time, a week 
ago, he was the bearer of a letter addressed to a friend, 
which in a brawl one of our spies was skilful enough to 
steal. It is directed to the Duke de Bourbon. Listen, 
Citizen Consul: ‘I see in Bonaparte a man who is 
neither loved, feared, nor respected at home.’ Shall I 
go on?” 


368 


THE EOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“ Go on ! These scoundrels’ insults merely stain my 
boots with mud !” 

“ ‘Nor respected at home, to be lauded to the skies in 
foreign courts. People do not even think of making a 
representation when he says, “I wish it.” What a 
climax of humiliation! He rules his fellow- citizens 
with an iron sceptre. They placed him there, but death 
alone will remove him. ’ ” 

“ Death !” 

“ That phrase proves that he was behind Cadoudal ! 
As Count d’ Artois is behind the Duke d’Enghien.” 

“ The coward ! Is that all?” 

“ No. You know that sword Pichegru gave Conde?” 

“Well?” 

“ It is now in the hands of the duke.” 

“ Of the duke ! You are right, Talleyrand, the little 
duke is a dangerous brute as well as a fool, since he 
does not see that my authority has never been more 
solid nor my glory more radiant. But I cannot take 
the trouble to win more victories to convince this 
youngster. Messieurs Louis XVIII., d’ Artois, Conde, 
Bourbon, d’Enghien, I will rise so high, so high that I 
will make you all my lackeys, as the kings have done 
who hired you to drive you away afterward like faithless 
servants. Talleyrand, tell Fouche to double the police 
force in Strasbourg. Let them seize this traitor. Let 
them search everywhere ! And let him be brought to 
me!” 

A smile brightened the face of the minister, who 
bowed almost double and left the room. 


CHAPTER II. 


ETTENHEIM. 

Ettenheim is a village surrounded by woods, built 
at the entrance of the valley of the Undiz, a league and 
a half from the Rhine and thirty-six kilometers from 
Strasbourg. Vines and fruit-trees grow on its soil, and 
amid the foliage rises the steeple of the church. It is 
the dream of a poet and the refuge of a philosopher. 

The Duke d’Enghien’s house was reached by a sandy 
road, winding through luxuriant fields, which being 
constantly watered in winter remained green, spite of 
the north wind and the frequent snows. Turning 
around the right-hand corner of the parsonage, a pretty 
house appeared which seemed to be supported at the four 
corners by Doric columns. It belonged to Baron 
dTchtratzheim, was composed of a ground-floor reached 
by a flight of eight steps, and a second story containing 
five windows. Behind the building was an immense 
garden which the duke found pleasure in cultivating. 

In the month of September, 1801, the duke had sev- 
eral friends gathered around him, without including 
his private secretary, the Chevalier Jacques, and his 
servant, Canone. These were Charles-Frederic, the 
Margrave of Baden; Baron Schilling, the master of 
hounds of the Elector of Baden ; the Marquis de Thu- 
mery, formerly an officer in Conde’s army, who had 
come from Frey burg, and Baron de Gxunstein, 

24 369 


370 


THE EOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


But faithful friendship was not the principal charm 
of Ettenheim for the young duke ; Cupid was fluttering 
his wings there. 

The romance dated from 1792, the period when Count 
d’ Artois was beginning to form companies. The Elec- 
tor of Maintz, fearing that such extensive military 
preparations might cause him trouble, required the emi- 
grants to withdraw, and the princes were obliged to 
accept the hospitality offered by Cardinal de Rohan in 
the bailiwick of Ettenheim. The duke was then twenty 
years old. 

The Cardinal was living with his niece. Princess 
Charlotte de Rohan-Rochefort, the daughter of Prince 
de Rohan. The twenty-year-old duke and the eighteen- 
year-old princess were soon united by a bond of sym- 
pathy which was speedily transformed into a more ten- 
der emotion. The cardinal, seeing in it a brilliant 
future for his niece, made no opposition. The question 
of marriage was raised. 

Prince de Conde, the head of the family, had higher 
views for his grandson. Not that it was a descent to 
become the husband of a Rohan, but the princess had 
no fortune, and Duke d’Enghien’s fate seemed to re- 
quire means of action. The grandfather’s opposition 
did not cool the passion of the young people. The duke 
traversed Europe, braved the chances of battle, with his 
love graven too deeply in his heart for anything to efface 
it, and in the beginning of the year 1802 the union of 
the two lovers was secretly solemnized by the Cardinal 
de Rohan himself. 

This was -the principal reason of the duke’s attach- 
ment to Ettenheim. The princess was settled in a 
house near the duke’s, and now that he was condemned 


ETTENHEIM. 


371 


to inaction the Duke de Bourbon’s son was constantly 
with the woman who possessed the blended charm of 
mistress and of wife. 

The very day on which Talleyrand had his conversa- 
tion with the First Consul, the duke was walking along 
the road from Runitz to Ettenheim. His eyes were 
fixed on vacancy, and he was utterly deaf to the caresses 
of his dog Mohiloff. At the sight of the noble, frank 
expression of the countenance, framed by light chestnut 
hair parted on the brow and falling in long locks on the 
right and left of the face ; the height of the forehead, 
the evenness of the united eyebrows, the length of the 
nose with its Bourbon type, the attractive gentleness of 
the eyes, the delicate curved lips, the slightly promi- 
nent, dimpled chin, finally the elegance of the whole 
carriage, the passer-by would have taken him for a 
soldier, if not a prince. He walked slowly, knowing 
that he was earlier than the hour appointed for his re- 
turn, the sun not having yet run a third of its course. 

During the last fifteen minutes, by one of those sud- 
den leaps of memory which we vainly strive to under- 
stand, his thoughts persistently wandered to the period 
when he was in the Brisgau. He saw himself arriving 
at his grandfather’s camp, falling into his arms. He 
again heard his words as if he were once more uttering 
them : “ O my dear child ! How many secret tears 

we must shed to make men, soldiers of you !” Then he 
had alluded to the Princess Charlotte : Beware ! 
Thei*e are women who bring misfortune. The first 
time I saw her, I had a presentiment of evil. In our 
family, they never deceive, do you understand? 
Never !” 

“ Come, Mohiloff, be quiet !” 


372 


THE KOMAKCE OF THE SWOllD. 


The dog’s persistence having permitted the Duke to 
glide over a painful memory, he reached the moment 
when the Prince de Conde received from Saint-Rejant 
the sword of Henri IV., so basely surrendered by Pich- 
egru. He again saw his grandfather holding the 
weapon in his hand and then extending it to him with 
the words; “You will grasp it more firmly than I. 
Restore it to the king, when you have conquered for 
him.” And he had knelt to receive this supreme token 
of his grandfather’s confidence in him. 

Since that day, many attempts had been made, many 
battles had been fought, but the duke had not succeeded 
in conquering for his king. He had wielded the sword 
at Esslingen and Frankfort ! Now it remained inactive 
in his house at Ettenheim, which he began to see through 
a clump of poplar trees. 

“ Mohiloff ! Here, Mohiloff !” 

All the visions had vanished. Mohiloff had dashed 
off at the sound of a familiar voice, that of the princess. 
Rushing along in a cloud of dust, he reached her pant- 
ing for breath and lavished upon her every demonstra- 
tion of gratitude and attachment. 

The duke quickened his pace. As he advanced he 
saw more and more distinctly the silhouette of the young 
woman’s slender, elegant figure relieved against the 
blue distance of the valley behind which lay France. 
He distinguished the oval outline of her lovely face 
upon which neither anxieties nor sorrows seemed to 
have left the slightest trace; the lustre of her fair hair, 
the resistless charm of her smile, the gentleness of her 
large eyes which reflected the blue sky. He was at her 
side, with his hand clasped in hers. 

Passing through the entrance, the door of a little draw- 


ETTEKHEIM. 


373 


ing-room closed upon them. Mohiloff stretched him- 
self on a sofa with orders to lie still, and the duke began ; 

“I have come from Runitz, where I met my few 
faithful friends.” 

“ What news have you?” 

“ Bad news.” 

“ Speak quickly.” 

“ The English government will not definitely recog- 
nize Louis XVIII. as King of France, nor ally itself 
officially with him. Yet it was easy to organize a 
counter-revolution. The fatal name which we bear 
condemns us to a shameful inactivity. It is the result 
of the detestable system, which I hoped the English 
had given up ; but I see that the system exists and the 
point of sapping the foundation-stone of the French 
revolutionary government is not yet reached. A treaty 
of peace and alliance with the legitimate sovereign 
would have overturned the colossus. All hoped every 
instant for some preparatory measure which would be 
the forerunner of this recognition. It would have 
united all parties.” 

“ All !” sighed the princess. 

“ A single hypothesis is possible, the death of Bona- 
parte.” 

“What death?” asked the princess anxiously. 

The duke hesitated an instant. 

“ One which would surprise him in the midst of perils. 
In that case, a bold stroke might have the greatest con- 
sequences. It would be necessary to take the thing in 
time — in Alsace.” 

“And if death continued to spare him?” 

“ Something else would be sought.” 

“And then?” 


374 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“A certain Bertrand de Malleville, the same person 
who formerly attempted to corrupt Mirabeau, proposed a 
new plan of action. According to him the first instru- 
ment of the counter-revolution should be Jacobinism, 
the only one capable of restoring the general dis- 
organization and chaos whence the Revolution issued. 
He advises the Royalists to maintain the most absolute 
inaction until the new order of affairs, in order not to 
thwart in any way the enterprises that the Jacobins 
might attempt against the government.” 

“ There is a gulf between them and us.” 

“ So deep that I shall never try to cross it.” 

“What more?” 

“ Prince de Conde has been informed that I was risk- 
ing incursion into France.” 

“Is that a falsehood?” 

“ Worse yet. It is a slander.” 

“What did you answer?” 

“ That the person must have had very little knowl 
edge of me who said, or attempted to make others be- 
lieve, that I would set foot upon Republican soil except 
with the rank and in the place where chance caused me 
to be born. I am too proud to bow my head basely. 
Bonaparte can dethrone me, but he will not make me 
humiliate myself.” 

“ Finally?” 

“ Finally the report is in circulation that Bonaparte’s 
police are watching me, and the advice to leave Etten- 
heim comes to me from all directions. What do you 
think of it, Charlotte?” 

The princess gazed earnestly at the duke in silence. 
Then, with tears dimming her eyes, she hid her face in 
her hands. 


ETTENHEIM. 


375 


“ Part again, Henri ! You are well aware that when- 
ever your grandfather advises you to leave here on the 
pretext that you are too near France, he has another 
thought in mind, to separate us. Can you suppose that 
Bonaparte has any idea of having 5^ou kidnapped, lay- 
ing an ambush for you ! It is easy to aim a carbine. 
You are seldom alone. And besides, is not this neutral 
territory?” 

She raised her head, knowing what an effect her tears 
had upon him. 

The duke knelt before her and, after pressing a long 
kiss upon her eyes, said : 

“ Charlotte, you promised that you would no longer 
yield to such fears. Are you not my wife, my wife in 
the sight of God? Do you not represent all that the 
world contains of beauty and love? Certainly I will 
listen to no advice from my grandfather or my friends 
which will remove me from you. Have I not paid 
dearly enough for the sweet moments which I can 
devote to you and remain at your side?” 

“You swear it, Henri?” 

“By whatever you desire.” 

“Really?” 

“ Upon my word of honor.” 

She rose, now radiant with delight, and as the duke 
had risen at the same time, she threw her arms around 
him, saying in her most caressing tones : 

“ Upon the sword? The one which came to you from 
Henri IV.?” 

Then resting her head upon his shoulder, she added, 
as if affirming her husband’s superiority over others: 

“And which Count d’ Artois has never dared to 
claim.” 


376 


THE BOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“ I swear upon the sword to abandon you only for my 
king or death !” 

A kiss rewarded him, and, knowing that the duke 
would follow her there, she fled into the garden, singing 
to the air of “ The Deserter” a couplet formerly impro- 
vised in the Austrian camp : 

“We marched away, led by d’Enghien ; 

Fair women he loves well and wine 1 
A third love hath he also — Fame. 

With these three passions, we may claim 
His heart with joy is full — ” 

The last two verses were lost in the midst of the 
flowers. 


CHAPTER III. 


I 

THE ARREST. 

On the night intervening between the 9th and 10th 
of March an entertainment was given by the Duke 
d’Enghien. 

Around the table were assembled the Princess Char- 
lotte, Baron de Griinstein, Lieutenant Schmidt, and 
Monsieur Hippolyte Charles to celebrate the anniver- 
sary of the first victory of Prince Conde’s grandson. 

The princess, who looked prettier than ever, seemed 
to have forgotten past sorrows and dread of the future, 
so great was her effort to appear gay. 

Baron de Griinstein was listening attentively to the 
narrative of his host. 

Lieutenant Schmidt was caressing Mohiloff, whose 
gratitude was expressed by wagging his tail and by 
suppressed sighs. 

Monsieur Charles, leaning carelessly back in his chair, 
was studying his poses as he always did in the presence 
of a woman. 

By what series of circumstances had he come to 
Ettenheim? 

After having ceased all relations with Madame Bona- 
parte, the ex-lieutenant had gone in search of another 
conquest or another dupe. Chance not having favored 
him, he was reduced to the query whether he would not 
be obliged again to test Samuel’s obligingness (whose 
377 


378 


THE KOMAHCH OF THE SWORD. 


business, by the way, increased after the erasures from 
the list) when the affair of the Rue Saint-Nicaise made 
him deem it prudent to fly, a number of the former 
members of the Black Cross having become uneasy. 

Monsieur Charles took refuge in Germany, and lived 
there by his wits until the day when he thought of offer- 
ing his services to Duke d’Enghien. The duke con- 
sented to use them. 

More familiar relations were soon established between 
them. Monsieur Charles managed so well that after 
having used his patron’s purse he found means of win- 
ning his friendship, and then of being numbered among 
his intimates. When Princess Charlotte, who had 
always disliked the new-comer, asked the duke what 
had attracted him to Monsieur Charles, he answered 
smiling : 

“Bonaparte is a fellow of whom Monsieur Charles 
has made game.” 

Which shows plainly enough that the ex-favorite of 
Citizeness Bonaparte was not specially discreet. 

“A beautiful day,” the duke continued. “The 
month of August was superb. We had ridden all night 
in order to surprise the enemy in the environs of Bor- 
zen. I was twenty years old, gentlemen. Suddenly 
we heard firing. The Republicans began the attack. 
We bore their volleys without flinching, and when they 
were only a few paces from us, I shouted : ‘Forward !’ 
Our horses fairly flew. I dashed onward, hewing my 
way; the enemy fled. I had tasted the joy of victory! 
Fill our glasses, Canone.” 

Canone, who had remained standing, was so absorbed 
in his master’s story that he did not hear. 

“ Of what are you thinking, Canone?” 


THE ARREST. 


379 


‘‘ Ah, Monseigneur, if I dared ” 

“ Dare ! I wish to have every one join in the festival 
to-day. You too. Are you not one of the family, my 
good fellow? Have not you shared my fatigues and 
dangers when they became too numerous for one man’s 
shoulders to bear? Have we not endured the cold of 
Russia together? Do you remember?” 

“Answer, Canone,” said the princess, to encourage 
the old servant to conquer his timidity. 

“ Do I remember ! At first I thought it would all be 
like the time we spent with Marshal Souvarow or Prince 
Besboradko. And then the nights in sledges, the sleep- 
less ones in the open air with snow that fairly split your 
nails! Oh, yes, I remember. Monseigneur.” 

“ And in Volbynia?’! 

“ In Volhynia, there were the bears.” 

“And in the Brisgau?” 

“In the Brisgau, it was worse; there were the Re- 
publicans.” 

“Well said, Canone. Now you see what you can 
dare.” 

“Well, Monseigneur, I was thinking that while you 
were intoxicating yourself and us also with your stories, ’ 
you did not notice that Mohiloff has left Lieutenant 
Schmidt and gone to the threshold of the dining-room 
with his nose turned toward the garden, and that he 
has growled twice.” 

“ Well ! That shows he is in a bad humor.” 

“ Mohiloff is too sensible an animal to growl without 
reason.” 

“From which you infer?” 

“ Monseigneur will be angry ” 

“Speak first; you shall see directly afterward.” 


380 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“From which I infer,” said Canone, summoning all 
his courage, “that there are ill-looking people roving 
about the house.” 

“You are crazy.” 

“ I expected that answer. I have only to ask Mon- 
seigneur’s pardon.” 

“ And to refill the glasses.” 

“ Did not your heart beat faster the first time you saw 
firing?” asked Baron de Griinstein. 

“ Yes, but with joy ! I so keenly felt the necessity of 
taking vengeance on the Revolution. Think what it has 
cost me, Baron. I had seen the princes fly ; I had also 
witnessed the flight of Messieurs de Cay la, d’ Anti- 
champ, de Mintier, de Virieu, d’Auteuil, de Choiseul, 
and many more. And Madame de Monaco, Countess 
Amelie, and Conde. At Spa, I had heard of the hor- 
rors of Vesoul, the revolt of Metz, of Valenciennes and 
Rennes; I had tasted the bitter bread of exile, and 
watched, event by event, the terrors of the insurrection. 
The Revolution had separated me from my mother, as 
eventually it was to separate me from my father. It 
had cost me the happiness of remaining near you, Char- 
lotte. Oh, yes, it was with joy that my heart beat when 
I felt the breast of a revolutionist, when ” 

“Monseigneur,” interrupted Princess Charlotte. 
“Canone is right. Listen to Mohiloff.” 

The dog no longer growled ; he was barking furiously. 

“Come, Canone,” said the duke, “go and see what 
it is.” 

A few seconds after, Canone returned. 

Monseigneur, there are two ill-looking men wander- 
ing around the house.” 

“ Give them some money. ” 


THE AKREST. 


381 


“ Or a drubbing !” said the baron. 

“Would you like to have me go there?” asked Mon- 
sieur Charles. 

“ Are you jesting?” 

“Monseigneur,” ventured Canone, “Mohiloff is too 
kind-hearted to bark at poor people.” 

“ You apparently forget the man whose calves he bit 
a month ago. A business which cost me a pretty sum. 
Give them some money, I tell you.” 

“Very well, Monseigneur.” 

The duke was about to continue his story, but the 
attention of the guests wandered. 

“ You are not afraid?” he asked, addressing Charlotte. 

“ If I were a woman to tremble, Henri, I should not 
have been among the number of those who always most 
eagerly opposed your departure from Ettenheim. 
Yet ” 

“Yet?” 

“ I confess that the rumors which have been in circu- 
lation here for several hours are beginning to make me 
anxious.” 

“ Fool !” murmured the duke, holding out his hand 
to her, that the caress might apologize for the epithet. 

“Monseigneur,” interposed Baron de Griinstein, “the 
princess is right. You know whether Fear and I have 
ever passed through the same door, as our peasants say, 
but evil tidings are multiplying, and — were you going 
to speak. Lieutenant?” 

“Pardon my interrupting you,” said Lieutenant 
Schmidt. 

“Go on, if your purpose is to convince Monseigneur.” 

“And,” added the lieutenant, “evil encounters are 
added to the evil news. Perhaps these two persons — 


382 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


hear Mohiloff, he is furious— ‘these two persons, I was 
saying, to whom Canone just alluded, are the same ones 
I met this afternoon. They certainly were not poor 
people, but either soldiers or spies.” 

Meanwhile Canone returned. 

“Well, Canone?” 

“Well! Monseigneur, when I offered them a piece of 
money, they ran off.” 

“ There are unfortunates who still retain their pride.” 

“Yes, but they seldom wear polished boots. Now 
these men, though their clothing was ragged, had shoes 
like those used by folks who are well-to-do.” 

“From which you conclude?” 

“That they were poorly disguised.” 

“Which way did they go?” 

“In the direction of Strasbourg.” 

“ A pleasant journey to them ! If they were sent by 
the First Consul they will tell him what they saw : a 
Bourbon who had at his right hand what he holds dear- 
est on earth, at his left a firm friend, and opposite to 
him two officers, one of whom has succeeded in render- 
ing Bonaparte a Georges Dandin ! I presume the Con- 
sul does not intend to contest such rights with me. My 
dear Charlotte and you, gentlemen, I drink to the King, 
and to the speedy deliverance of my native land.” 

The glasses touched. 

Mohiloff, who had come back with his tail between 
his legs and his head hanging, again went toward the 
door barking, but in a tone of menace and warning. 

“ Go and ask them if they have changed their minds, 
Canone.” 

Silence reigned until his return. 

“Were they the same persons?” 


THE AREEST. 


383 


‘‘No, Monseigneur, two peasants ask to see you at 
once.” 

“Did you tell them that I was at dinner?” 

“ They say that they have a very important communi- 
cation.” 

“ Receive them, Henri !” urged the princess. 

“ Let them come in, then.” 

A moment after the two peasants, hat in hand, were 
standing before the *duke, who had turned half round 
in his chair to face them. 

“What has happened, my friends?” 

“Monseigneur, we have come from Grafhausen. 
They are talking there of a movement of troops.” 

“ The Elector’s troops?” 

“French troops.” 

The princess made a gesture of terror; the other 
guests sat motionless. 

“French troops! That is impossible. Baron d’Ed- 
elsheim would not have authorized ” 

“ Tell what you know,” said the first peasant. 

“Monseigneur,” the second began, “we were not only 
told this at Grafhausen, but my uncle, who lives at 
Alsdorf, sent me just now a basket of game, in which 
was a letter stating that, since this morning, French 
dragoons have been encamped a quarter of a league from 
the village.” 

The duke, at this fresh confirmation, sat for several 
minutes absorbed in anxious thought. 

“ I thank you, my friends, and with all my heart.” 

The peasants were ushered out of the room by Ca- 
none, and this time Mohiloff did not stir from the place 
to which he had returned near Lieutenant Schmidt. 
The duke was trying to dispel this new anxiety, when 


384 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


his secretary, Monsieur Jacques, who had been detained 
two leagues from Ettenheim to wait for the courier, came 
in panting for breath. 

“Monseigneur, in passing through Kappel, the cou- 
rier heard that artillery coming from Strasbourg had 
crossed the Rhine.” 

“Ah, this looks more serious.” 

“Henri!” entreated the princess, “I beseech you, 
go.” 

“ Madame is right !” added Baron de Griinstein. 

“Go!” urged Lieutenant Schmidt and Monsieur 
Charles in their turn. 

Canone gazed imploringly at his master. 

“Monseigneur,” said the secretary Jacques, after 
watching the effect of the previous representations, “ we 
are all ready to share your fate. But we should be only 
five against a little army. In such a case, flight is 
allowable. It is possible, it is probable that Baron 
d’Edelsheim will be intimidated. Permit me to add 
my entreaties to those of the princess and these gentle- 
men.” 

“No!” cried the duke. “If, in spite of international 
law, Bonaparte’s sbirri are rascally enough to try to get 
possession of my person, I intend to throw the responsi- 
bility upon the Consul. History will judge. I shall 
stay. But, Charlotte, you who may also be threatened, 
you whose liberty and life are far dearer than my own, 
must return home. These gentlemen will serve as your 
escort. Jacques, Canone, and I will meet the assail- 
ants. And Mohiloff too.” 

“ Henri, I will not leave you.” 

“Even if I require it?” 

“ Even if you require it. What should I do with my 


THE ARREST. 


385 


life and liberty without yours? Besides, am not I the 
person who has always advised you to stay here? If a 
misfortune threatens you, my love, my honor, my duty 
command me to share it with you.” 

“As our friendship requires us to defend you,” said 
Baron de Griinstein. 

“Well said, Baron!” cried Lieutenant Schmidt. 

“ Spoken like a brave man !” added Monsieur Charles. 

“In that case,” said the duke, “Heaven’s will be 
done.” 

They had all risen. 

The duke raised his glass again : 

“I drink to the King.” 

“Now,” continued the duke, “we must determine 
our positions in case of attack. You, my dear Char- 
lotte, will stay with me. The baron will occupy the 
room next to the kitchen. Lieutenant Schmidt, Mon- 
sieur Charles, and Monsieur Jacques will camp in this 
room. There are guns for everybody.” 

“And I, Monseigneur?” asked Canone. 

“You will stay with Mohiloff after you have told the 
servants to be ready for any emergency.” 

It was ten o’clock in the evening. 

Each occupied his post, as had been agreed. 

“Charlotte,” said the duke, when alone with Prin- 
cess de Rohan, “ I do not know what fate may be in 
store for us. However cruel, let me again repeat, as to 
my heart’s darling and my wife, that I have loved you 
to desperation, and still love you as ardently as on the 
first day of our union.” 

“ And I, Henri, must tell you that, after having had 
the honor of becoming your wife, the greatest one that 
could befall me would be to die with you,” 

35 


386 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


A long embrace sealed their protestations. 

At two o’clock in the morning, a light breeze, having 
begun to blow from the west, bore to Ettenheim the 
confused sound of horses’ hoofs. 

Lieutenant Schmidt, who was watching at the win- 
dow, having heard it first, informed Baron de Grunstein 
and Monsieur Charles just as they were falling asleep. 

Both joined their companion, and all three leaned out 
of the window. 

“It is dark,” said Monsieur Charles. “One can see 
nothing. ” 

“But we can hear. The sound is coming nearer. 
Monsieur Schmidt was right. It is the trampling of 
horses’ hoofs.” 

“Now the noise is growing fainter.” 

“ They have probably made a circuit to avoid alarm- 
ing the village.” 

Fifteen minutes passed. 

The sound again grew louder, and at the same mo- 
ment Canone knocked at the door : 

“Did you hear, gentlemen?” 

“Yes. How does it happen that Mohiloff is silent?” 

“ Listen ! He was waiting to be sure.” 

Mohiloff was really barking furiously. 

“Quick, Canone, go down with your gun.” 

“Too late!” cried Monsieur Charles. “They are 
already at the door.” 

As dawn was breaking, they could already distin- 
guish the uniform of the gendarmes who were trying 
to scale the walls. 

“ I’ll run and wake Monseigneur !” said Canone. 

Mohiloff, with his fore-paws against the wall, contin- 
ued to give the alarm. 


THE AEREST. 


387 


When Canone rushed up to the chamber of the duke, 
who, fully dressed, sat near the princess, who was lying 
on a sofa, his voice failed. 

“ Monseigneur ! Monseigneur ! Gendarmes— French- 
men! Shall we fire?” 

“No. Wait.” 

The princess, suddenly roused, cried : 

“ They are here ! What are you going to do?” 

The duke, who had not heard, had gone to the win- 
dow and was questioning a mounted soldier. 

“Who commands you?” 

“We don’t owe you an answer,” replied the man. 

“Scoundrel!” cried Monsieur Charles, and raising his 
gun to his shoulder, he fired. 

The gendarme rolled on the earth. 

An instant after a second gun was fired, and Monsieur 
Charles, pressing his hand to his throat, fell lifeless. 

The duke was preparing to avenge his guest, when 
the baron, who had rushed in with the lieutenant and 
his secretary J acques, exclaimed : 

“ In Heaven’s name, do not fire ! The garden is filled 
with soldiers. Resistance would be useless and only 
serve to increase the wrath of these wretches. Re- 
member, Monseigneur, that there is justice even in 
France.” 

“Do you think so?” murmured the duke, lowering 
the barrel of his gun. 

He still stood erect, defying the assailants. The' 
princess, close beside him, waited, hoping that the same 
volley would kill them both. At that moment Mohiloff 
uttered a howl of pain. The animal had been struck 
on the muzzle with the butt end of a musket. Flushing 
crimson, the duke again levelled his gun, but at that 


388 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWOKD. 


instant the door of the chamber opened, admitting half 
a score of men commanded by a captain named Chariot. 

The princess had taken her husband’s arm. 

“ Which is the duke?” asked the captain. 

“You ought to know him,” replied the prince. 

“ I have never seen him.” 

“In that case, search.” 

“We haven’t time.” 

Then, turning to his men, he added : 

“Seize all these people.” 

“The woman too?” asked a sergeant. 

“ Leave the woman. She would be in our way.” 

“Before my departure,” said the duke, “I wish to 
take leave of this lady, bid farewell to the body of the 
friend you have killed, and get my dog.” 

The captain hesitated, then answered: 

“Make haste.” 

The duke pressed the princess to his heart for several 
instants. Their grief was too intense to find utterance 
in words. 

Separated from the wife he was never to see again, 
the duke went into the next room and saw Monsieur 
Charles lying in a pool of blood. Kneeling beside him, 
he kissed his forehead, and rising whistled to Mohiloff. 

“I am ready, gentlemen.” 

The duke and the other prisoners were carried away, 
while the princess sank fainting on the fioor, and the 
gendarmes pillaged the house. 

It was six o’clock in the morning. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE TALISMAN. 

Bonaparte waited, with a certain degree of anxiety, 
to learn the opinion of Europe concerning the arrest of 
the grandson of the great Conde. 

His impatience was to experience no long trial. 

The very day that the duke left Ettenheim, the 
Elector of Baden, trembling for his own peace, made 
apologies to the Consul and, to prove his zeal still more 
fully, drove the emigrants from his domains. 

“ The sovereign of Baden alone had the right to com- 
plain,” said Napoleon to his ministers, ‘‘and he has not 
done so.” 

If Russia and Sweden protest, this same Elector will 
entreat them not to carry their displeasure farther lest 
the tranquillity of Europe should suffer. Before such an 
attitude Prussia will remain mute; Munich will keep 
silence ; Stuttgart will pretend to applaud ; Dresden will 
play the part of flatterer; Naples will feign ignorance, 
and yet, at that period, the ruler of Naples was Ferdi- 
nand IV., a Bourbon who hated the Revolution and 
whose hatred was heightened by fanaticism and base 
ferocity. Madrid congratulated the French minister, 
Beurnonville, in terms whose warmth induced Louis 
XVIII. to return to the Spanish monarch the order of 
the Golden Fleece. 

England alone raised her voice in protest. 

389 


390 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


Bonaparte ought to have expected this. 

Shrugging his shoulders, he received the suffrages of 
all the corporate bodies of Paris, and the authorities of 
the departments. He opened numerous addresses. 
Suffrages and addresses all had the same tenor: the 
necessity of forever quieting France, definitely assuring 
the stability of the new political government, by found- 
ing it upon the perpetuity of a family. 

Then, for the hundredth time, the thought of grasping 
the royal sceptre haunted the ex-pupil of the Brienne 
school. 

For the hundredth time, he saw the sword of Henri 
IV., of Catharine, Count d’ Artois, Samuel the Jew, 
Count d’Availlac, and Pichegru, placed upon a throne 
hung with crimson velvet, broidered with golden bees. 

To open the era of a fourth dynasty was a serious 
matter. To seat himself upon a throne after having 
long appeared to the mass of the people as the personifi- 
cation of the Republic would hazard arousing derision 
or murmurs. 

The nation evidently felt the desire to throw itself at 
the feet of a new monarchical idol, but had not the 
flame of Republican faith been kindled in the hearts of 
a sufficient number of patriots to hold such an ambition 
in check? 

This was the opinion of his intimates, great civil or 
military dignitaries, whose familiar friendship had 
continued. It was also Lucien’s, who had remained 
faithful to the traditions of the Constituent Assembly, 
thereby daily drawing upon himself from Napoleon the 
reproach of being only an ideologist and the remark 
that the world was too small for them both. 

But, on the other hand, corporate bodies and authori- 


THE TALISMAH. 


391 


ties returned to the charge, as if obeying a watchword. 
Already rumors reached Bonaparte’s ears of the inten- 
tion of the great political bodies of the State to draw up 
in a form tending toward monarchy a proposition which 
immediately after would become a formal resolution. 
The Senate would take the initiative, led by Fouche, 
who was by no means revengeful. It would lay stress 
upon the fact that Bonaparte, owing himself to the 
country, was not the master of his own existence ; that 
he could render his life and work secure only by uniting 
them with institutions so combined that their system 
would survive him ; that, founding a new era, his duty 
was to perpetuate it, brilliancy being nothing without 
permanence. The Senate would speak in the name of 
all citizens who admired and loved him, but who 
thought with increasing anxiety of the fate of the ship 
of the Republic, should it have the misfortune to lose 
its pilot before being fixed by immovable anchors. If 
he questioned the cities, the country, all Frenchmen, 
one after another, they would exclaim with one voice : 
“ Great man, finish your work by making it immortal 
as your glory! You have drawn us from the chaos of 
the past, blessed us with the prosperity of the present ; 
secure to us the future !” 

The Council of State remained. Several of those who 
stood nearest to Bonaparte’s person had tried to learn 
its views concerning the necessity of assuring heredity 
in the supreme power, and the title which should serve 
to designate this hereditary authority. The answers 
had not been very satisfactory. Some had favored the 
postponement of all discussion. One councillor, named 
Berber, had gone so far as to declare that to introduce 
the question of heredity in connection with the supreme 


392 the romance of the sword. 

power would be taking a step backward and opposing 
the object of the Revolution. Others added that it 
would be opening the door to the Bourbons. It is true 
that at the same time, Fouche and Talleyrand were 
organizing conferences, uniting the most influential 
members of the Senate who were already convinced and 
of the Legislative Corps yet to be gained, to tell them 
that the army was impatient to declare in favor of a 
hereditary power, which was true, at least in regard to 
the leaders. “If the great political bodies,” they said, 
“ do not take the initiative, they will be outstripped by 
the military power. Murat needs all his energy to 
maintain the enthusiasm of the garrisons. Remember 
that the Roman Senate lost all consideration and influ- 
ence the day that the Legions seized the right of elect- 
ing the Emperors.” 

Bonaparte again saw the throne and the sword placed 
upon the crimson velvet embroidered with golden bees. 
And in conformity with his Corsican superstition, he 
made a comparison between his chance of becoming Em- 
peror and oi regaining possession of the sword of Henri 
IV. All day long he impatiently waited for news of 
the arrival of Duke d’Enghien, who was to be followed 
by the carriage containing the papers and weapons. 

The question of determining what he should do with 
the duke was the sole diversion of his fixed twofold 
idea : the throne and the sword. 

Fouche’s opinion had little weight. He already sus- 
pected his duplicity, remembering that in 1800 the 
report was current that he only awaited the loss of the 
battle of Marengo to offer his services to the legitimate 
sovereign of the very power which he had never hesi- 
tated to betray and to persecute. Bonaparte had already 


THE TALISMAN. 


393 


rid himself of him in 1802 by appointing him to the 
senatorship of Aix and making him a gift of 1,200,000 
francs. During the trials of Moreau, Georges, and 
Pichegru, Bourrienne had exclaimed : “ I have never 
doubted that the conspirators received secret support 
from Fouche’s police.” And Bourrienne’s words had 
been repeated to him. 

Monsieur de Talleyrand’s counsels were also not of a 
nature to weigh heavily in the scale. The sum of 60,000 
pounds sterling had been paid to the faithless betrayers 
of the secret articles of the treaty between France and 
Russia, and among these betrayers a number of politi- 
cians named Talleyrand. 

Bonaparte sought suggestions only from himself, and 
faced the result of all solutions. 

The Duke d’Enghien had accepted the pay of Eng- 
land. He had served in foreign armies. He had con- 
spired against the established order of affairs. He was 
amenable to justice. His condemnation would forever 
strike terror into Bourbons and conspirators. Yes, but 
would it not deprive the First Consul of a number of 
partisans just at the moment he so greatly needed arms 
to bear him to the steps of the throne? Would he not 
be accused of dispensing justice to gratify rancor? Did 
not history offer its examples? 

Then his thoughts reverted to the sword, still the 
sword, always the sword ! 

Would the journey from Ettenheim to Paris never 
end? 

“ Citizen Consul !” 

“Talleyrand!” 

Monsieur de Talleyrand, contrary to his usual custom, 
had entered without knocking. 


394 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“ What has happened? Speak.” 

“The Duke d’Enghien is in Paris.” 

“ Has search been made everywhere?” 

“ Everywhere.” 

“Have any weapons been found?” 

“ Some which were carefully locked in a chest, which, 
placed in a Treasury wagon and guarded by four gen- 
darmes, will be here in a moment.” 

“Well done, Talleyrand. Perfect. Now tell me 
what has happened since leaving Strasbourg. ” 

“ The journey took place without any incident worthy 
of note. I ought to mention, however, the entreaties of 
Mademoiselle de Rohan, who came to the gate of the 
citadel to see him. They did not think it their duty to 
do anything with the princess.” 

“ They did right. What next?” 

“This morning at one o’clock, the post-chaise con- 
taining the duke stopped at the barrier of la 
Villette. It followed, the outer boulevards, reached 
the Rue de Sevres, turned into the Rue du Bac to 
reach the Department of Foreign Relations as had 
been agreed.” 

“You expected him there?” 

“Certainly.” 

“And you saw him?” 

“No.” 

“Why?” 

“ I had hastened to Real and to the governor. General 
Murat. On my return, the latter had given the order 
to take the duke to the chateau of Vincennes.” 

“ A useless precaution. I had also commanded Murat 
to keep the duke’s name, as well as everything con- 
nected with him, a secret.” 


THE TALISMAH. 


395 


“Your order crossed my directions to the comman- 
dant of the chateau. Here are the exact words of the 
dispatch I have just sent to him.” 

“Read it.” 

“ To Citizen Hurel, Commandant of the Chdteau of 
Vincennes : — A person whose name must not be known 
has been conveyed to the fortress whose command is 
entrusted to you. You will lodge him in the King’s 
Pavilion, taking proper precautions for his safety. 
The intention of the government is that everything 
concerning him shall be kept secret, and that no ques- 
tions shall be asked concerning his identity or the 
reasons for his imprisonment. You alone will com- 
municate with him, and you will not permit him to see 
any one until farther orders.” 

“Excellent. The papers?” 

“ Have been seized and examined. They consist of 
letters exchanged between the duke and the princess, 
the letters of a Monsieur de Lanans, the copy of a note 
addressed to Sir Charles Stuart, English embassador at 
Vienna.” 

“ Is that all?” 

“That is all.” 

“The note?” 

“Here it is.” 

Bonaparte turned it in every direction, then gave it 
back to Talleyrand, saying : 

“Read it.” 

“General d’Ecquevilly having informed me. Mon- 
sieur, of the promptness with which you made known 
to your government my desire to be employed during 
the progress of this war, and the special kindness you 
have evinced toward me personally, I take pleasure in 


396 


THE ROMAKCE OF THE SWORD. 


expressing my full appreciation of this mark of interest 
on your part, and desire to give you my sincere thanks 
without delay.” 

‘‘Treachery is in their blood! Go on, Talleyrand.” 

“Therefore, Monsieur, I repeat to you with entire 
confidence what General d’Ecquevilly has doubtless 
already communicated to you from me. The absolute 
inactivity in which I vegetate, while the road to honor 
is open to so many others, daily becomes more un- 
endurable ” 

“ He calls that the road to honor ! A true French- 
man would have said infamy ! To take up arms against 
one’s native land, no matter in whose hands it may 
be, is a disgrace! I should prefer the cowardice of 
d’ Artois.” 

“I wish only to give to your generous government 
these proofs of my gratitude and of my zeal ” 

“And this government is England!” interrupted 
Bonaparte again, this time unable to repress a gesture 
of rage. “ England, where I ought to have gone in pur- 
suit of them all long ago to send them to the Newgate 
executioner. Don’t mind me, Talleyrand.” 

“ I dare to hope that the English will deem me worthy 
to fight with them ” 

“ Worthy ! Certainly he was !” 

“ To fight with them against our implacable foes and 
will permit me to share their perils and some portion 
of their glory.” 


“ Their perils? What perils? Traders who, hidden 


THE TALISMAH. 


397 


behind their counters, fight with pounds sterling! I 
defy any one to show me a living instance of their 
glory. Cite one, Talleyrand.” 

The minister hesitated, then murmured: 

“ Nelson.” 

“ Nelson ! Why, you don’t know a word of your his- 
tory. Nelson ! Because one day he destroyed our fleet 
moored in the bay of Aboukir? A relative triumph, 
due to a deplorable lack of foresight and a deceitful 
security. Shall I tell you an anecdote which will for- 
ever enlighten you concerning the maritime ability of 
your Nelson? It happened in 1799. Ferdinand IV., fly- 
ing before the Eepublican armies, basely abandoned his 
people and set sail for Sicily on a vessel commanded by 
Nelson, and somewhat also by the Englishwoman Lady 
Hamilton, whom he did not shrink from publicly parad- 
ing as his mistress. Suddenly a tempest rose. The 
royal craft, with broken mast and tattered sails, strug- 
gled against the gale. Ferdinand believed himself lost. 
He prayed aloud, promised rich gifts to Saint Janvier 
and Saint Francis, darted angry glances at the Queen. 
Meanwhile, in the midst of the storm, a Neapolitan ves- 
sel was pursuing a steady course. It was under the 
command of Admiral Caraccioli. One would have said 
that Nelson’s ship obeyed the winds, and Caraccioli ’s 
directed them, so firm and free was her progress. Nelson 
was seized with jealousy and vowed to be revenged for 
Caraccioli ’s skill. A few months after, in complicity 
with Ruffo, he accused Caraccioli of an imaginary 
crime, obtained from Ferdinand IV. permission to ar- 
rest him, and had him hung from the main-yard of his 
ship.” 

The minister bit his lips. 


398 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


He knew the story, but had forgotten it. 

Then returning to the letter, he continued : 

“ Absolutely devoid of any private interest relative to 
my cause, my request is only for a place in your army 
or a commission. It differs too widely from that which 
has formerly been made by members of my family re- 
siding in England for me not to have a well-founded 
hope of obtaining a more fortunate result. You will 
oblige me infinitely. Monsieur, by strongly empha- 
sizing this difference. It is undoubtedly a s-acred duty 
for us to serve our cause and our legitimate sovereign 
unto death, but I have also a most urgent and welcome 
one to fulfil, that of serving our benefactors and show- 
ing them a gratitude as genuine as it is disinterested.” 

“ Disinterested? Is the word there?” 

“ Every letter of it.” 

“ Sir Charles Stuart ought to send him the amount of 
the sums sacrificed to the Bourbons by England. Was 
not the duke himself in her pay? Here is certainly a 
novel form of disinterestedness. Is that all?” 

“ There are only a few more lines.” 

“ This desire has long existed in my heart and daily 
becomes more ardent. Therefore, Monsieur, I entreat 
you to tell me confidentially the means which you think 
would be most advantageous to attain my goal, and be 
assured in advance of my sincere gratitude ” 

“Go on.” 

“Henri de Bourbon, Duke d’Enghien, Ettenheim. 
Electorate of Baden. February 15th, 1804.” 

The Consul remained silent for some time. 

“ Talleyrand?” 

“ Citizen Consul?” 


THE TALISMAH. 


399 


“ This is enough to warrant imprisoning him for life.” 

“ That is my opinion.” 

“We will consider the matter. What is wanted?” 

“Citizen Consul,” said a secretary who had just en- 
tered, “ a Treasury wagon ” 

“I know what it is. Have the chest it contains 
brought up at once.” 

Then, addressing himself to Talleyrand, he added : 

“ I thank you. Leave me.” 

He was pale with impatience. 

“ At last !” he exclaimed as the door opened and the 
chest appeared, borne by two gendarmes. 

Bonaparte, trembling with nervous excitement, rushed 
forward, throwing himself on his knees before it and 
pushing aside the hands of the gendarmes and secretary, 
who tried to assist him. He wished to open it himself, 
though he should break his nails. 

“Go away, all of you. Leave me.” 

He rushed to the chimney-piece, took a poker, used it 
as a lever, and pressed with all his strength. The lid 
yielded. Guns, pistols, daggers, an English broad- 
sword, an Austrian short sword, a Russian sabre, the 
Sword ! 

Bonaparte seized it, grasped the hilt, rose, and brand- 
ishing it aloft, more triumphant than on the evening of 
Marengo, exclaimed in a voice choked with joy : 

“ I shall be Emperor !” 


CHAPTER V. 


SAMUEL THE JEW AND CONSUL BONAPARTE. 

From the day that Samuel bartered Josephine’s love- 
letters to Monsieur Hippolyte Charles for the jewel and, 
master of the gem, settled her account by making it 
run up to three hundred and fifty thousand francs, many 
combinations had been studied in the rooms occupied 
by the Jew in the Rue de I’Egalite. 

He had thought more than once of the sword, the 
sword which, looking through the windows of the house 
in the Rue Chantereine, he had seen placed in the hands 
of Pichegru. 

Once he was on the point of going to the commander- 
in-chief of the army of Sambre and Meuse and negotiat- 
ing with him. He hesitated and decided to do nothing. 
His hate of the Bourbons again mastered him and, Jew 
though he was, he preferred to see the princes routed 
rather than Count d’ Artois absolved by history. But 
his anger rose to fury when he knew that the weapon had 
fallen into the hands of Prince de Conde; first, because, 
in his eyes, Conde was the only Bourbon capable of 
making a good use of it ; second, because he knew him 
to be incorruptible; last, because the Copdes had never 
lost an opportunity of persecuting his religion and his 
race. 

He had kept the marks of it. 

In January, 1773, at the time Louis XV. was ruined 
400 


SAMUEL THE JEW AND CONSUL BONAPARTE. 401 

by the follies of Maupeon, de Terray, and Du Barry, 
Samuel had found means to obtain an interview with 
the king, who at that time had recourse to all who 
offered him a chance of aid. His Majesty had not 
shown himself unduly .dogged in listening to the pro- 
posals of the Jew, who moreover had obtained a recom- 
mendation from Pierre Laujon, song- writer by appoint- 
ment of Chantilly, who in case of need exchanged a 
song for a few crowns. The point in question was a 
splendid arrangement for both borrower and usurer. 
The future owner of the White Heron, having behind 
him a Jewish tribe ready to risk its savings, could offer 
the king two millions for a repayment in three months 
of thrice that sum. It was an almost immediate profit 
of four millions to the lenders. As for the king, the 
rate of the loan mattered little to him — the people would 
pay it. Louis XY. was about to have his minister sign, 
when Conde, hearing what was happening, rushed into 
the royal apartments and, placing himself between the 
king and the Jew, exclaimed : “ Sire, in the name of 

what you hold dearest [at that time it was Madame du 
Barry] , I entreat you to give up your arrangements with 
that man. If your need of money is urgent beyond 
measure, appeal to the devotion of every Frenchman ; 
there is not one who would refuse to bleed at every vein 
to assist you. If you think the people and the middle 
classes too poor to make such a sacrifice, trust to the 
nobles. We will sell our castles, part with our silver 
and our ornaments, reduce ourselves, if necessary, to 
the last extremity, but do not let the J ew have a place 
in our history.” Samuel listened with bowed head, but 
a smile on his lips. He bowed his head from prudence, 
for Conde had his cane in his hand. He smiled from 
26 


402 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


malice, for he knew his history, and was not ignorant 
that, in spite of the prince’s high-sounding words, more 
than one Jew had already approached thrones, more 
than one king had not feared to become the debtor of 
a child of Israel. While the king was reflecting, won- 
dering whether his people, already murmuring, would 
consent to a fresh sacrifice, even if they were capable of 
it, and whether the nobles, to whom the prince had 
alluded, were really so ready to open purses already 
much shrunken by previous contributions, Conde did 
not lose sight of Samuel. Silence reigned for several 
minutes, then the Jew made an effort in his own behalf : 
“ If Monseigneur would take the trouble to read again 
the pageaifts of the past, perhaps he would see that we 
have long been chronicled in them. He would convince 
himself that we, too, were at Rocroi, Freyburg and 
Nordlingen.” Scarcely had he uttered the words when 
Conde raised his cane and struck the usurer so heavily 
that the king, aroused from his reflections by the vio- 
lence of the blow, exclaimed : “ Conde ! Conde ! That 

impatient act will cost France fifty per cent more!” 

Abandoning all hope of the sword, Samuel turned his 
thoughts in another direction. 

We know the advantages the Revolution offered the 
Jewish religion. The landlord of the White Heron was 
one of the deputation of six Jews who, after the famous 
day of October 6th, presented themselves at the bar of 
the Assembly to offer a new request which the nobil- 
ity refused ; he had returned to the charge some time 
after and had obtained from the Constituent Assembly 
the concession that his co-religionists should have a 
semblance of citizenship. The progress of Judaism in 
France did not stop there. The Revolution daily re- 


SAMUEL THE JEW AND CONSUL BONAPARTE. 403 

deemed the persecutions of the past by the gift of a 
favor or a privilege. Would Bonaparte pursue the 
course of 1789? Such was the question which presented 
itself not only to Samuel, not only to the Jews who had 
taken refuge in France, but to all European Judaism, 
since the triumph of French arms in Europe. Long 
before Pius VII. ’s exclamation of “Comedian,” while a 
captive at Fontainebleau, Bonaparte, though not sub- 
missive himself to the ritual ceremonies of the Church, 
was full of deference to the Catholic faith. It was 
observed later, when he was personallj^ to direct opinion, 
that he devoted himself to defending the Catholic cause 
to the point of preparing, by substantial legislation, re- 
lations between the Church and the State, knowing the 
influence of mystical suggestions upon the minds of the 
people. But would he extend his indulgence to religions 
which were not national ? 

Samuel was selected bj" his co-religionists to test 
Bonaparte’s opinion on this point. 

The question was to learn how he should present him- 
self at the First Consul’s, Samuel’s mission dating from 
Bonaparte’s appointment to this new post. 

He had already had an interview with him in the Rue 
du Marais, a week before the 13th Vendemiaire, when 
through the aid of Monsieur Charles he had discovered 
that he was captivated by the Viscountess de Beauhar- 
nais. He had gone there on the pretext of aiding all 
who served the Republic and on whom fortune had not 
yet smiled, but who would soon become its masters. 
The general had answered that in the days when he was 
a sous-lieutenant, he had preferred to cook for himself 
rather than run into debt for his meals, and when Sam- 
uel alluded to the necessity of making Madame de 


404 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWOKD. 


Beauharnais a wedding-gift, Bonaparte replied : “ I will 
give her my sword.” And the Jew had gone down the 
five flights of stairs muttering: “We’ll see whether 
the wife’s debts will not weigh more heavily than the 
husband’s sword !” 

This proceeding would not have been calculated to 
encourage Samuel to solicit an interview later, had he 
not prudently prepared himself for every emergency. 

After not having feared to serve the love-affairs of 
Monsieur Hippolyte Charles, to speculate upon the co- 
quetry and recklessness of Madame Bonaparte, to make 
himself the possessor of the jewel — we know at how 
base a price — and to become Bonaparte’s creditor for the 
sum of three hundred and fifty thousand francs, Samuel 
had made a change in his tactics. Instead of present- 
ing this note of three hundred and fifty thousand francs 
to the First Consul, he had carefully treasured it, a 
secret presentiment telling him that, by deferring the 
time of payment, he would place the sum at a still more 
usurious rate. He would watch the progress of events, 
see what turn they were taking, and push or retard his 
claim as Bonaparte showed himself hostile or sympa- 
thetic to the Jews. Madame Bonaparte was not the 
woman to wonder at Samuel’s delay, for the very sim- 
ple reason that she had forgotten her debt long ago. So 
Samuel could present himself to Bonaparte and, in case 
the latter should bear him a grudge for his visit to the 
Hue des Marais, disarm him by furnishing a proof of 
his disinterestedness. 

The First Consul did not keep the Jew waiting. He 
received him in his office as soon as he arrived, and, 
after motioning him to a chair, remained standing in 
front of him. 


SAMUEL THE JWE AND CONSUL BONAPARTE. 405 

“Well! Monsieur Samuel, was I wrong in declining 
your services the day you called on me in the Rue des 
Marais?” 

“ What ! Citizen First Consul, do you remember 
that?” 

“I remember everything, the first requisite for a 
statesman being to possess a memory, for his friends as 
well as for his enemies, indeed a better one for the 
former. I suppose you haven’t come to offer me money 
again? ’ 

Samuel thought it would rather be to ask for it. 

“No, Citizen Consul, I beg you to believe it. I did 
so formerly for a purpose which may be avowed. My 
devotion to the Republic is tolerably well known.” 

“Then what does bring you?” 

“ Have you time to listen to me?” 

“Begin, we’ll decide afterward.” 

Samuel unbuttoned and rebuttoned his coat to take 
time for reflection, and said slowly, that every word 
might make a deeper impression upon the mind of his 
hearer : 

“ Citizen Consul, the Republic has done much for the 
Jews.” 

“ Much indeed. Monsieur Samuel. A mind less lib- 
eral than mine would add that it had done too much.” 

“ Do you think so?” 

“ Must I remind you of the gratitude you have shown 
to those who prepared the way for you. I will pass 
over the disgraceful speculations concerning the crown 
diamonds. The first person detected as having partici- 
pated in the theft of the Garde-Meuhle was a Jew 
named Louis Lyre, a native of London, a shopkeeper 
in the Quartier Beaubourg. His accomplice was a cer- 


406 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


tain Moyse in whose possession a number of pearls and 
diamonds were found. A month later, thirty of these 
diamonds were discovered in the house of one Youf, 
also a Jew.” 

“ Alas !” stammered Samuel, slightly disconcerted. 

“Jews organized the pillage of the churches, demol- 
ished that of Nicolas Flamel, and bought the church of 
Saint-Leu-Saint-Gilles, in the Rue Saint-Denis. Jews 
speculated in the property of the emigrants ; you know 
something about that. Monsieur Samuel. Under the 
Directory Jewish traffic became still more scandalous : 
trade and usury on a small scale, horse-dealing, gam- 
bling in assignats. In certain departments they robbed 
husbandmen of their land. In upper and lower Alsace 
and in Lorraine they became possessors of the landed 
property by loans on mortgages and deeds of redemption. 
In Paris, they settled in the Quartier du Temple and 
like a flock of vultures plundered the whole neighbor- 
hood. You yourself. Monsieur Samuel — ” 

“ Citizen Consul, you have already said that. Permit 
me to call your attention, on the other hand, to the fact 
that from the time of your flrst expedition to Italy, the 
Jews were your sleeping partners.” 

“ The Michels, Cerf beers, and Bodarrides made a very 
fair profit out of it.” 

“There are others who have shown themselves less 
exacting, or, that we may not play upon the words, more 
discreet.” 

“Could you mention one of them?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Give me a name then, a single one.” 

“ I will content myself with my own. Citizen 
Consul.” 


SAMUEL THE JEW AND CONSUL BONAPARTE. 407 

Bonaparte started, cast a quick glance at Samuel from 
his eagle eyes, and could not restrain a smile. 

Samuel bore the look and the smile and, while un- 
buttoning and rebuttoning his coat, repeated : 

“ I will content myself with mine.” 

Explain yourself.” 

“ I expected to be asked to do so,” replied the Jew, 
drawing his chair nearer to the armchair in which the 
Consul had seated himself. Then, after a pause, he 
began : 

“ Citizen Consul, every one in your family has not 
showed the disinterestedness which j^ou displayed on 
the day when, a penniless soldier, you refused my 
offers.” 

“ I suppose that my mother ” 

“ I have not the honor of knowing your mother, but I 
have had that of being received by your wife.” 

“ Josephine?” 

“ The ex- Viscountess de Beauharnais.” 

The Jew triumphed. Bonaparte knew Josephine’s 
character too well, was too thoroughly aware of the 
number of foolish acts she had already committed, the 
amount of the sums already paid, to be surprised by 
Samuel’s avowal. But if he was in a position to honor 
his wife’s signature more easily, that very position 
rendered any indiscretion on the part of his relatives 
more serious ; to say nothing of the fact that this last 
error placed him in a position of inferiority toward a 
solicitor. 

“ The claim is already of long standing. Citizen Con 
sul. The Viscountess de Beauharnais was then living 
in the Rue Chantereine. Several days before a consid- 
erable number of creditors had threatened her with law- 


408 


THE ROMAKCE OF THE SWORD. 


suits, though she had told them that, as soon as 
Martinique was freed from the English, she would be 
able to satisfy their demands. Thus, when I arrived, 
she was driven to her last entrenchments.” 

“ Who had informed you of it?” 

“ An acquaintance of the viscountess.” 

“ Have you forgotten the name?” 

“ Have I forgotten?” said Samuel, making a pretence 
of trying to remember it. 

No, indeed, the ex-landlord of the White Heron had 
not forgotten the name of Hippolyte Charles. He was 
merely considering whether it would be expedient to 
give it. By causing the First Consul to recall memo- 
ries which could not be agreeable to him, he would run 
the risk of increasing his ill-humor. Now, however 
well armed he might be, Samuel knew his man. The 
old saying that flies are not caught with vinegar also 
aided in convincing him of the necessity of not being 
imprudent. 

“ Yes, it has escaped my memory,” he answered. “ A 
lady, who was a friend of the viscountess, to the best 
of my recollection. One who probably had also had 
occasion to appeal to my generosity.” 

“Go on.” 

“ I therefore supplied the viscountess with the means 
to cope with the pack. But you know ladies are not 
always reasonable, or if you prefer that way of putting 
it, circumstances do not always favor them. After 
becoming Madame Bonaparte, and being ennobled by 
you with the title of Our Lady of Victory, she again 
became embarrassed. You were in Italy, and laurels, 
even in France, are not always current money. She 
sent for me and showed your power of attorney. I 


SAMUEL THE JEW AND CONSUL BONAPAETE. 409 

allowed myself to be persuaded and lent the money at 
an allowable rate, ten per cent. ‘Out of regard,’ I 
then said to her, ‘ for your husband, who is putting to 
flight the Royalist party which I hate and elevating 
in the ej^es of Europe the Republic I love. ’ I hoped 
that Madame Bonaparte would be contented with this 
second, advance. It was not so. There was another 
summons, another request, in terms so pressing that the 
hardest heart could not have resisted ” 

“.In short, the account, has finally amounted to ” 

“Three hundred and fifty thousand francs.” The 
Jew unbuttoned and rebuttoned his coat while studying 
the First Consul’s face to read the effect produced by 
the mention of so large a sum. 

Bonaparte frowned and bit his lips. 

“ Three hundred and fifty thousand francs ! How do 
you see in these three hundred and fifty thousand francs 
a proof of the discretion to which you alluded just 
now ?” 

“ I have never asked Madame Bonaparte for 
them.” 

“And she has never thought of reminding you of the 
debt?” 

“Women are apt to be forgetful. Citizen Consul. 
And then so many events have happened in such rapid 
succession to occupy her thoughts — — ” 

“ For what purpose did you not refresh her memory? 
Why didn’t you apply to me? By what right have j^ou 
left me so long under the obligation of remaining your 
debtor?” 

“ Because the Jews know how to be patient when it is 
necessary. Citizen Consul. Patience is still one of the 
characteristics of our race. I waited in order to give 


410 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWORD. 


you this proof of my disinterestedness and discretion on 
the day that we discussed together the question which 
brings me here, and to combat the prejudices which you 
have kept concerning us. ” 

Bonaparte had not heard the Jew’s last words. He 
was writing on his knees a check for three hundred and 
fifty thousand francs, with an order on the Treasury to 
deduct it from his civil and military list. 

“Now our account is settled. Monsieur Samuel,” he 
said, handing him the paper; “fix the interest yourself , 
I will pay it at once.” 

Samuel read the paper from the first word to the last, 
then pocketing it, said : 

“ I thank you a thousand times. Citizen Consul. As 
to the interest, if you please, we’ll say nothing about it. 
Besides, I shall consider myself reimbursed at a most 
usurious rate, if you consent to satisfy the complaint I 
am commissioned to bring to you in my own behalf, 
and that of my co-religionists. With all our digres- 
sions, we are a long way from it.” 

“ Go back to it then. You were saying ” 

Samuel drew a long breath. He had experienced 
within the last few minutes emotions strong enough for 
him to feel the necessity of again seizing the thread of 
his discourse. 

“ I was saying. Citizen Consul, that the Eevolution 
had done much for the Jews. But its work has been 
only provisional. You objected just now that in 
several departments, certain Jews, practising no other 
vocation than that of usury, had by the accumulation 
of the most extortionate interest reduced many husband- 
men to a condition of great distress. You added that in 
Paris, on numerous occasions, they had furnished proofs 


SAMUEL THE JEW AND CONSUL BONAPARTE. 411 

of their rapacity. The only way of aiding Frenchmen 
who have been reduced to grievous extremities by 
unjust greed, would be to rekindle among those who 
profess the Jewish religion in France those sentiments 
of civil morality which unfortunately have been ex- 
tinguished in a large number of us by the state of 
abasement in which we have languished. And the 
best means of rekindling these sentiments of morality 
would be to complete the revolutionary work : in a word, 
to incorporate definitely in the laws the equality 
granted by the Constituent Assembly to the Israelites.” 

Bonaparte remained lost in thought. 

Samuel’s idea coincided with a general plan already 
conceived by the First Consul. The thought of making 
the Jews French citizens had often haunted him, but 
from a point of view which neither Samuel nor his co- 
religionists could suspect. Bonaparte had estimated 
how many Jews escaped the conscription and, in their 
elevation to the rank of citizen, he merely saw the 
ability of making them soldiers. 

The Consul gave the Jew to understand that the proj- 
ect required time for reflection. He would consider it, 
and when the right moment came, he would see him 
again. 

Samuel left Bonaparte and waited. 

Time passed ; Bonaparte had more important matters 
to occupy his attention, and ended by forgetting his 
promise. But Samuel still watched, supported by his 
own convictions, by the various summons of his 
committee, and by the desire not to lose the promised 
interest of his three hundred and fifty thousand 
francs. 

He repeatedly solicited audiences with the First 


412 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


Consul, but without success. It was necessary to hasten 
matters at any cost. He obtained the intervention of 
some prominent Israelites whom Bonaparte had more 
reason to oblige, and he finally made an appointment 
with Samuel. 


CHAPTER VI. 


A FORCED PLAY. 

The evening before this interview Bonaparte had a 
long conversation with Portalis and explained the 
matter in question to him. 

“Citizen Consul,” said Portalis, in words which were 
afterwards to be reproduced in* a memoir which has 
remained famous, “the Constituent Assembly had be- 
lieved, in fact, that to render the Jews good citizens it 
would only be necessary to have them pa-rticipate indis- 
tinguishably, and without conditions, in all the rights 
enjoyed by French citizens; but experience has unfor- 
tunately proved that if they had not lacked philosophy, 
they were deficient in foresight, and that, in certain 
environments, new laws could be usefully promulgated 
only as far as labor had previously been expended in 
preparing and forming new men. The Jews are not 
simply a sect, they are a nation. This nation formerly 
possessed its own territory and government ; it has been 
dispersed without being dissolved ; it wanders over the 
whole earth to seek a retreat and not a native land ; it 
exists among all the nations without mingling with 
them; it considers itself to be living on foreign soil. 
This condition of affairs is due to the nature and the 
strength of Jewish institutions. Although all states 
should have in general the same object, that of preserv- 
ing and maintaining themselves, each has one which 
413 


414 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


is peculiar to it. Aggrandizement was the object of 
Rome ; war that of Lacedaemon ; the culture of litera- 
ture that of Athens ; commerce that of Carthage, and 
religion that of the Hebrews : it is in the nature of such 
a legislation that philosophers'and scholars have sought 
the explanation of its duration. We can understand 
that when, in a nation, the religion, laws, manners, and 
customs of life are the same, it would be necessary, in 
order to effect any change in the opinions and usages of 
this nation, to be able to alter all the institutions and all 
the established ideas which compose its existence. This 
cannot be done ; wa have had some proof of it in the 
very perpetuity of the people of whom we are speaking. 
Religion usually relates only to the things which con- 
cern the conscience. Among the Jews, religion em- 
braces everything which governs society. Therefore, 
the Jews everywhere form a nation within the nation. 
They are neither Frenchmen, Germans, Englishmen, 
nor Prussians: they are Jews. From the fact that the 
Jews are less a sect than a nation, it follows that it 
was not prudent to declare them citizens without in- 
quiring whether they could, or honestly desired to 
become so; it also follows that it would not be unrea- 
sonable, or unjust, to subject to exceptional laws a sort of 
corporate body which by its institutions, principles, and 
customs remains constantly separated from general 
society. Lastly, Citizen Consul, by assimilating, with- 
out precaution, Jews with all other Frenchmen, a 
throng of foreign Jews has been attracted who have 
infested our frontier departments, while we have not 
wrought in the mass of the Jews longer resident in 
France the happy changes expected from the system 
of naturalization which had been adopted. In that 


A FORCED PLAY. 


415 


respect present circumstances speak sufficiently for 
themselves.” 

Bonaparte had listened as he knew how to do before 
taking any important decision. Portalis concurred 
with the opinion he had reached in his last reflections. 
The general thanked him, promising to resist all solici- 
tations from whatever quarter they might come. 

Bonaparte’s last interview with Samuel occurred on 
the third day after the one on which the Duke d’Eng- 
hein had been imprisoned in the chateau of Vincennes. 
Absorbed by other cares, the First Consul was preparing 
to send him a refusal, when the ex-landlord of the 
White Heron was ushered into the room. 

The Jew had bought a new coat and hat for the occa- 
sion. Coming forward with a smile on his lips and a 
low bow, he took the chair to which his host pointed, 
and waited for him to speak. 

“Monsieur Samuel,” Bonaparte began in the curt 
tonq which indicated his desire not to be delayed, “I 
regret to inform you and your co-religionists that I can- 
not pursue the negotiations commenced between us 
some time ago.” 

“ Ah !” muttered Samuel, whose face instantly 
changed. 

“ My own views have been sustained by the persons 
in my confidence who are best qualified to judge of the 
matter. If you please, we will abide by this decision 
for the present.” 

The consul rose from his armchair and walked up 
and down his office, waiting for his visitor to take a 
leave sufficiently indicated. 

But the latter, instead of preparing to go, sat still, 
unbuttoning and rebuttoning his new coat as nervously 


416 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


as he had fidgeted with the old one, and apparently 
chewing words which would not pass his lips. 

“The matter is understood, is it not. Monsieur 
Samuel?” 

“Understood, certainly; but there is no decision 
which cannot be changed.” 

“Yet you ought to be aware that I am not one of 
those who form resolutions lightly.” 

“ Citizen Consul, I have already had occasion to show 
you that one of the qualities inherent in our race was 
obstinacy. Judge how serious this obstinacy must be 
when the point in question is to defend the future 
interests of a whole people, which represent more than 
forty-seven thousand inhabitants in France alone. 
Before making your refusal positive, let me explain to 
you, for the last time, the precise nature of the favor 
which I am commissioned to ask you in the name of 
the great family of Israel: The convocation of an 
assembly composed of the principal Jews and fifteen 
rabbis, under the supervision of a certain number of 
commisioners appointed by you. A solemn promise by 
our representatives, in the name of all the Jews residing 
in France, to modify, before entering a society already 
constituted, whatever our religion might contain con- 
trary to that society. These are guarantees, I think?” 

“ But I am not the sole master here.” 

Samuel, stroking his beard, gazed steadily at the 
consul. 

“Well, incase General Bonaparte would pledge his 
word, we would wait until he was emperor !” 

Emperor ! It was the first time that any one, except 
his intimate friends, had uttered the word in his 
presence. 


A FORCED PLAY. 


417 


By what intuition had the Jew divined that this 
name might contain flattery for the ex- Jacobin general? 

“Emperor!” Bonaparte repeated. “What do you 
mean?” 

“I mean, Citizen Consul, that the wishes of the 
people are to see you ascend the throne, reign in 
France, be the sole and only master. And this will 
occur. Citizen Consul, will occur because it must. On 
account of the sword !” 

He had uttered the last words slowly, so that they 
might make a deeper impression upon his listener 
and also to be able to judge better of the effect which 
they would produce. 

“ What sword?” asked Bonaparte abruptly. 

Slowly, for the same twofold purpose, came the 
answer : 

“The sword of Henri IV.” 

This time General Bonaparte started. 

Was this Jew a wizard to read not only his most 
secret thoughts, but to be aware of the most private 
facts of his life? For an instant fear, awakened by 
the Corsican’s superstition, succeeded astonishment. 
Having conquered the emotion, he took a chair, drew 
it toward the one still occupied by Samuel, and fixing 
his eagle eyes upon the blinking ones of the Jew, asked : 

“ How do you know?” 

“ Because it was sold to me one day by your worst 
enemy, next to England : Count d’ Artois.” 

“ To you 1” cried Bonaparte, who again saw in the 
distant past the dying Count d’Availlac, again heard his 
last words : “The prince received the sword like a man 
who intended to do nothing with it and, a few weeks 
after, pawned it to a London Jew.” This Jew was the 
27 


418 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWOKD. 


man before him. It was at this Jew’s door that Count 
d’Availlac had killed the man sent to redeem the 
sword. He again saw in the succession of incidents 
the result of that fatality which had never ceased to 
serve him in lieu of religion. 

He reflected a few minutes, and then said : 

“ Why were you not frank with me the day you first 
offered me your services?” 

‘‘ That day, Citizen Consul, I had another thought in 
my mind.” 

“ What was it?” 

“ To place you in my debt so as to force you to sell 
me the weapon.” 

“ How did you know that it was in my possession?” 

“Through Saint- Re j ant.” 

“ Saint-Re j ant ! One of the principals in the con- 
spiracy of the Rue Saint-ITicaise!” 

“ I was at Quiberon, Citizen Consul, on account of 
General Roche. Saint-Rejant wished to burn me alive 
there. I threatened, if he put his plan into execution, 
to shout before his soldiers that his Prince — Count 
d’ Artois — had not scrupled to entrust to a Jew the sword 
which he received from the Empress Catharine. Fear- 
ing that this revelation might turn the Chouans from 
the count, whom they were then expecting, chill their 
enthusiasm, and cause desertions, Saint-Rejant con- 
sented to release me on condition that I would swear 
upon the Old Testament to neglect nothing to regain 
possession of the sword. ‘ In order to save you the 
trouble of searching,’ he added, when I had taken the 
oath, ‘ I ought to tell you that the sword is in Gen- 
eral Bonaparte’s hands. I was present when Count 
d’Availlac gave it to him before his death.’ ” 


A FOKCED PLAY. 


419 


So the monster was there and tried to assassinate 
him. The unfortunate count told me so ere he drew his 
last breath.” 

Then, repressing a gesture of anger, he added : 

“ And when you saw that I refused your offers?” 

“ I directed my attention to Madame de Beauharnais, 
who I knew must become Madame Bonaparte. When 
I have secured the wife, I said to myself, 1 shall be 
sure of the husband. That is the origin of the three 
hundred and fifty thousand francs. ” 

“What next?” 

“ Next, concealed among the crowd admitted to the 
gardens of the house in the Rue Chantereine, I saw 
you confide your sword to Pichegru, and distinctly 
enough. Citizen Consul, to perceive that it lacked some- 
thing : the jewel on the neck of the bride. ” 

“ And lost by her.” 

“ By her, yes, but not to every one !” 

“ Not to every one, you say 1” 

“ Citizen Consul, hitherto I have spoken to you with 
the frankness required by the circumstances. I will 
continue to do so to the end. My faith in my God, my 
belief in my religion, my devotion to all concerned, 
alike require it.” 

The Jew’s face kindled. His eyes ceased to blink 
and gained a steadiness of look well calculated to im- 
press. There was almost an air of nobility in his 
bearing. 

“ Saint-Rejant is dead, thus I am released from my 
promise. You have regained possession of the sword 
given by Conde to his grandson, the Duke d’Enghien, 
now a prisoner at Vincennes. But the sword without 
the gem is only half the talisman, Citizen Consul; now, 


420 


THE ROMAKCE OF THE SWORD. 


for the part you are going to play, the whole talisman 
will not be too much. The gem is my property.” 

If the Jew’s disclosures had constantly increased the 
consul’s surprise, this last revelation was enough to 
bewilder him. 

He passed his hand across his brow to arrange the 
ideas which were blending in such confusion, and was 
about to yield to his fervor, when, with the readiness 
which characterized him in the moment of danger 
and had already won him so many battles, he suddenly 
remembered that Josephine might have some share in 
the matter. It would not do to have his wife discussed 
on the eve of becoming Caesar’s. 

How much do you mean to ask me for it?” 

“ Citizen Consul, ten yeass of your civil list would 
not suffice, even after the list becomes imperial. ” 

“^Do you mean that for a threat?” 

“ Have I not come here as a supplicant? The price 
of the jewel must be the undisturbed peace of my 
religion and the enfranchisement of my race. Give me 
a written promise to summon a great Sanhedrim within 
three years, and the jewel is yours.” 

As Samuel spoke he unbuttoned his coat, took out a 
case and, opening it, revealed the jewel, whose flashing 
radiance fairly dazzled General Bonaparte. The consul 
did not attempt to struggle with his conscience, either 
because he was convinced that he should prove the 
weaker, or because it did not speak. Going to the table, 
he wrote the pledge required and extended it to Samuel, 
who grasped it with one hand while delivering the case 
with the other. 

“ May our Grod bless and keep you !” he murmured, 
taking leave, bearing with him the hope of a race and 
the liberation of a nation. 


CHAPTER VII. 


IN THE FOG. 

Meanwhile a carriage drawn by two horses, urged 
by the driver to their utmost speed, was passing over 
the road between Dover and London. 

From time to time the latter turned in Lis seat and 
cast a secret glance through the front window at his 
passenger — a lady closely veiled, whose face expressed 
deep anxiety and grief. At the beginning of the jour- 
ney he had tried to question her, but without eliciting 
any replies except in relation to the road he was pur- 
suing. Then, perceiving that persistence was useless, he 
had resolved to make no further effort, contenting himself 
with driving as fast as possible to earn the promised 
fare, whose amount indicated a person of distinction. 

It was six o’clock in the evening when the carriage 
entered London in the midst of a fog so dense that the 
policemen had just received orders to light torches, 
which diffused a red, smoky glare through the darkness. 

“ Whip your horses !” the traveller called to the coach- 
man, with so good an English accent that she might 
have been taken for an English woman. 

“It is impossible to go faster, Madame,” replied the 
man, “spite of my readiness to do so. My lanterns 
scarcely light the street enough for me to see my way. 
We should run the risk of striking against some other 
carriage or crushing the people on foot.” 

421 


422 THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 

The lady let down the windows — she could not deny 
the truth of his reply. 

The fog constantly grew denser and redder, emitting 
the peculiar odor which enables the English to smell as 
well as see it, and sometimes chokes as well as blinds 
them. 

The horses were forced to slacken their pace still more. 

Then the carriage stopped, the coachman got down 
from the box and was obliged to lead the animals. He 
had lost his way. After taking a few steps he reached 
the sidewalk and again stopped in front of an establish- 
ment through whose windows streamed a faint light. 

“ Don’t be anxious. I’m going to inquire my way 
of the keeper of this shop. The horses won’t dare to 
stir in this darkness. Neither of them will budge.” 

He knocked at the door which stood wide open, 
revealing the smoky interior of a tavern where a num- 
ber of persons had sought refuge from the darkness. 
Above a bar, in gilt letters, were the words : 

. Koockley and Co. 

Formerly “ The White Heron.” 

The driver said a few words, drank a glass of 
whiskey, mounted his box, and started his horses at a 
walk. 

Precisely at seven o’clock the carriage stopped before 
a house a few yards from Hyde Park. The traveller 
asked anxiously if she had arrived and, when the 
coachman answered in the affirmative, she descended. 

The price had been arranged and paid in advance, so 
she was detained only to thank the man for his obliging- 
ness. She went to the entrance, raised the knocker, and 
let it fall several times. The door opened. 


IN' THE FOG. 


423 


“Can I see Count d’ Artois?” she asked. 

“ Monseigneur is just rising from the table. But I 
must inform madame that Monseigneur receives only 
in the morning.” 

“ Monseigneur will make an exception in my favor. 
Give him this letter and ask him to have the kindness 
to read it immediatel3^” 

“Please walk in, Madame. The night is dark and 
cold.” 

The man ushered the visitor into a large ante-room, 
gave her a chair, and went away to deliver the letter. 

Count d’Artois was drinking his coffee in the of- 
fice where, eleven years before, he received Count 
d’Availlac. 

He ordered the lady to be shown up. 

“ Your letter was too urgent, Madame, for me not to 
grant the request it contained,” the count began. 
“ But as it was not signed, I will beg you to have the 
kindness to give your name.” 

His guest raised the veil which covered her face. 
The count noted her youth and beauty, as well as the 
sufferings she had endured, whose lines were still 
written on her brow. 

“ Monseigneur,” she began, “ I am a miserable woman 
who, after having been condemned not to admit publicly 
that I am the wife of the only man whom I have ever 
loved, saw this man a few days ago dragged away by 
soldiers before my eyes and conveyed to France, where 
he is now at the mercy of Consul Bonaparte. My name 
to the world is Madame de Rohan-Rochefort. To you. 
Monseigneur, I will be the Duchess d’Enghien.” 

“ I know the misfortune which has overtaken you, 
Madame. Next to the Prince de Conde and the Duke 


424 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWOKD. 


de Bourbon, I have most reason to feel indignation and 
grief. What have you done since the duke left Etten- 
heim?” 

“ I went to Strasbourg in the vain hope of rescuing 
my husband from his captors. Followed by Bona- 
parte’s police, examined by an officer of the gendarmes 
and a commissioner, I thought it my duty to confess 
the ties which united me to the duke and admit that 
my presence was for no other purpose than to make 
every effort to deliver him. My anguish did not touch 
them. They endeavored to draw from me some state- 
ment which might compromise their prisoner and, con- 
vinced at last of the futility of their shameful efforts, 
released me on condition that I should return imme- 
diately to Ettenheim. I attempted to apply to the Elector 
of Baden, of whose conduct you are perhaps aware. I 
sent couriers in every direction, hoping to interest the 
various courts of Europe, and I myself hastened to 
London to see you. Monseigneur, my sole refuge and 
my only hope.” 

Count d ’Artois listened to Madame de Rohan-Roche- 
fort without the movement of a muscle, without the 
slightest token of compassion. If the latter had pos- 
sessed sufficient calmness, she would have perceived 
at once that the slight degree of interest he felt in the 
situation of the prisoner of Vincennes proceeded from 
the resentment cherished against him from the day 
when, placed in possession of the sword by the Prince 
de Conde, the duke had deemed it more prudent to 
retain it. 

“I compassionate the misfortune which has over- 
taken you, madame. But I do not see what I can do to 
relieve the duke’s unfortunate situation.” 


11^ THE FOG. 


425 


This time Madame de Rohan-Rochefort understood. 
She bowed to her host and left the room without wait- 
ing for him to summon any one to attend her. 

The fog had grown so dense that the light of the 
torches carried by the policemen could scarcely be dis- 
tinguished. Almost groping her way, Madame de 
Rohan-Rochefort walked straight on, haphazard, with- 
out reflection, the prologue to the wandering life she 
was to lead in the future. London was silent, disturbed 
only by the shouts of the night-watchmen, whose 
number had been doubled on account of the darkness. 
She followed the railing of Hyde Park, touching it 
occasionally to assure herself that she was not plunging 
into a gulf of blackness. On reaching the neighbor- 
hood of Kensington, she stopped, bowed her head and 
pondered; then, with a sudden movement, like one 
who has just decided upon a plan, she turned to a 
watchman just passing : 

“ Will you please tell me the way to Heastone House?” 

The watchman raised his lantern to the level of her 
face. 

“ Heastone House? If you will allow me, my lady. 
I’ll take you there.” 

He walked on before her, saying : 

“ Excuse me, my lady, but my lantern only lights the 
way in front.” 

The watchman had his own reasons for believing 
that he was addressing a lady of rank, from the mo- 
ment she mentioned Heastone House, the residence of 
Prince de Conde. 

The wife of Duke d’Enghien, in going to Prince de 
Conde, was making the greatest sacrifice of which she 
was capable : that of her pride. She was not ignorant 


426 


THE KOMAHCE OE THE SWOKD. 


of any of the objections which the prince had made to 
her marriage. He had had other views for his grand- 
son, and at first had lost no opportunity of keeping him 
away from Ettenheim . “ It would be a great comfort 

to me,” he wrote to him in 1797, “to be sure, before I 
die, that my race will not be extinct. It seems to me 
that it is the equal of any.” -She had read the letter. 
Prince de Conde was then thinking of marrying the 
duke to a princess of Baden. Afterward the opposition 
was emphasized in terms insulting to the young wife. 
But grief and the desire to spare no effort to save the 
man whom she loved more than all else in the world 
enabled her to conquer every obstacle. 

On reaching her destination, Madame de Rohan- 
Rochefort paid the watchman and sent her name in to 
the prince. 

One look at the old man’s face and attitude was 
enough to convince the poor wife that, in the presence 
of existing circumstances, all resentment had vanished. 

He made her relate the same facts into whose details 
she had entered at Count d’Artois’ house, then over- 
come by increasing emotion, asked : “ And what is 

your opinion of the end of this sad story?” 

“My opinion,” she answered the old man, bursting 
into sobs, “is that the duke is lost!” 

“ Lost !” repeated the prince, also giving free course 
to his tears. 

It was the second time in his life, since the day he 
had heard of the execution of Louis XVI. 

“Lost!” he repeated, sinking heavily into an arm- 
chair. “ Bonaparte will make him atone for his hatred 
of his old antagonist at Hastembeck and Minden. 
Lost ! Perhaps by my fault !” 


IN THE FOG. 


427 


“ Prince !” 

“ Yes, mine! Mine, for I made him a soldier; yet at 
that time I believed he would defend instead of attack- 
ing France. I took him into my army, advised him to 
serve the kings battling for their legitimate rights, and 
encouraged him to accept English pay. Mine !” 

Then secretly glancing at Madame de Rohan-Roche- 
fort, and remembering the words he had said one day to 
his grandson, “ There are women who bring misfortune,” 
he added in a low tone ; 

“ And by hers too.” 

Lost!” 

This was the opinion of the person who had the 
greatest reason for self-deception, who had just come 
from Strasbourg. In London opinions were more 
optimistic. Neither Count d’ Artois, nor the Duke de 
Bourbon, nor those who were their most intimate 
friends, had believed for an instant that a Bonaparte 
would attempt the life of a Bourbon. As soon as the 
abduction was known, Monsieur had sent his first 
equerry to the Duke of Bourbon. The latter had come 
at the same time as the Orleans princes, and then had 
the news broken to his father with the utmost consider- 
ation by the Princess of Monaco. After brief discus- 
sions the Prince de Conde and the Duke de Bourbon 
went to Henry Addington, the head of the English 
ministry, to entreat the intervention of the government 
in behalf of their child. Addington had promised 
twelve thousand pounds to a Monsieur de Braslart to go 
to Paris and rescue the prisoner. The Under-Secretary 
of State, Hammon, had also interested himself in the 
matter, as well as Lord Hawkesbury. One Monsieur 
de Cirulla had even spoken of sending to Paris a hun- 


428 


THE ROMANCE OP THE SWORD. 


died Corsicans, who had taken refuge in London and, 
a month before, had vowed to assassinate Bonaparte. 
But not one of them, even putting things at their worst, 
had imagined that he was lost. Neither did the am- 
bassadors of Austria, Spain, Naples, and Etruria, who 
were commissioned to make a collective appeal to Mon- 
sieur de Talleyrand, nor the Dukes of Kent and Cam- 
bridge. 

The prince rose, went to the window, raised the cur- 
tain, and gazed through the panes as if, piercing the 
fog, he could behold the coasts of France. 

Imagining he saw them again, he clenched his hands 
with a cry of rage — the roar of the old lion bereft of 
teeth and claws. 

To bear the name of Conde, to have had for allies 
kings and nations, yet to be ^ able to effect nothing 
against this Corsican. Had Fortune really made him 
her favorite child, as well as Victory ! By what incom- 
prehensible boon did he thus deceive all parties : the 
Royalists believing him to be a second monk; the 
Republicans, the firmest support of the Revolution. 
What immunity had permitted the days of Prairial, 
Fructidor, and Brumaire to pass without opposition? 
And, conspiracies having merely served to increase his 
popularity, he was ascending to empire, after making 
so many steps of the Jacobins, the Royalists, and the 
thousands of corpses scattered over the plains of Europe. 
Finally, oh ! supreme humiliation and supreme anguish, 
perhaps a last step of the corpse of the Duke d’Enghien ! 

Lost! And nothing could be done! 

The powers remained indifferent or cold. England 
did not find sufficient cause for crossing the Channel. 
He no longer had an army. Its remnants were begging 


II^’ THE FOG. 


429 


in the capitals. No longer an army! After, “Sol- 
diers, remember Rocroi, Freyburg, and Nordlingen,” — 
vain, derisive words! He could do nothing for that 
precious life, the worshipped grandson whom he had 
been the first to lead to war, the first person who had 
given him “living lessons.” His d’Enghien! 

Madame de Rohan-Rochefort still waited, pale, 
silent, exhausted by fatigue and anxiety. 

She had hoped that the grandfather might have an 
inspiration which would save the grandson, and this 
grandfather’s despair so plainly revealed his helplessness 
that she resigned all hope. 

She again burst into a fit of sobbing. 

Then Prince de Conde turned. 

At the sight of the poor, fainting wife, his heart, 
already filled with infinite sorrow, was also overwhelmed 
with infinite pity. He forgot that she had become 
against his will — at least in the pages of history — the 
heiress of a name about to vanish; he forgot the evil 
destiny which he had accused her of having brought 
upon his grandson. He remembered only one thing: 
her young brow bore the impress of the last kisses of 
the doomed man. 

He went toward her, opening his arms, and, as she 
rushed into them, murmured : 

“ My daughter, there is nothing left us save trust in 
God.” 

At the moment he embraced her, the clock struck 
twelve. 

At the same hour a knock on the door of his prison 
waked Duke d’Enghien. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


WHAT HAPPENED AT THE SAME TIME AT VINCENNES 
AND MALMAISON. 

The duke was sleeping. 

Roused by Mohiloff’s barking, he sprang out of bed, 
and hastily dressed. 

The knock was repeated and, opening the door, he 
admitted six men: Captain Dautancourt, who was to 
perform the duties of judge-advocate; Major Jacquin, 
Lieutenant Noirot, Captain Molin, and the gendarmes 
Lerva and Tharsis. 

“Gentlemen,” said the duke, “I thought at least I 
had a right to my night.” 

“Monsieur,” replied Dautancourt, “I am obeying the 
orders of General Hulin, who is subject to those of the 
Governor of Paris.” 

“ I congratulate you on the excuse. What can I do 
for you?” 

“We have come to examine you.” 

“ Here?” 

“ Here.” 

“ I hoped that I should at least have the honor of a 
court of justice.” 

“ You will appear before a military commission later.” 

“When?” 

“ In a short time.” 

“ I am at your orders. I will only request a minute 
430 


AT VINCENNES AND MALMAISON. 431 

to caress my dog, lest he should continue to show his 
teeth, as he is now doing.” 

Mohiloff was indeed far from displaying his master^s 
impassiveness. 

If he no longer barked, he showed by his growling 
his dissatisfaction at being suddenly waked by people 
whom he believed to be enemies. 

The warden placed in charge of the duke brought a 
table and chairs. 

Captain Dautancourt took his place under the dim 
light of a smoky lamp, and signed to his companions to 
sit down. 

The duke remained standing. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, “before you proceed to my 
examination, I ask to say a few words.” 

“ Speak.” 

“ I protest in the name of the liberty of the people, in 
the name of my king, in the name of Europe, against 
an arrest which is doubly arbitrary. In the first place, 
because I was on foreign soil. Secondly, because there 
was no reason for it. I protest against this method of 
examining me by night, when the right of defending 
one’s self in broad daylight and in the presence of an 
audience is granted to murderers and robbers. Now I 
will ask you to forward this paper to General Bonaparte. 
It contains a request for a private audience. My name, 
my rank, my mode of thought, the horror of my situa- 
tion, make me hope that he will not refuse this 
appeal.” 

The judge-advocate took the letter. 

“ I will communicate with General Hulin, who will 
decide. Are you ready now?” 

“ I am ready.” 


432 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWOKD. 


“Your names, Christian names, age and place of 
birth?” 

“ Louis Antoine-Henri de Bourbon, Duke d’Enghien, 
born August 2d, 1772, at Chantilly.” 

“At what period did you leave France?” 

“ I cannot state positively, but I think it was July 
16th, 1789 — I left with the Prince de Conde, the Duke 
de Bourbon, my father, and Count d’ Artois.” 

“ Where have you resided since your departure from 
France?” 

“On leaving France, I passed with my parents, 
whom I have always accompanied, through Mons and 
Brussels ; thence we went to Turin, to the king of Sar- 
dinia, where we remained nearly sixteen months. 
Thence, still with my parents, I went to Worms, on the 
banks of the Rhine; afterward the corps of Conde 
was formed, and I went to the war. I had previously 
served in the campaign of 1792, in Brabant, with the 
corps de Bourbon, in Duke Albert’s army.” 

“Where have you been since peace was concluded 
between the French republic and the Emperor?” 

“We ended the last campaign in the environs of 
Gratz ; the Conde corps, which was in the pay of Eng- 
land, was disbanded there. I remained in Gratz for my 
own pleasure eight or nine months awaiting news from 
my grandfather, who had gone to England, and who 
was to inform me what allowance he was accorded in 
England, which was not 3 "et determined. Afterward, 
I asked Cardinal de Rohan’s permission to go to Etten- 
heim, formerly a bishopric of Strasbourg.” 

“ Did you not go to England?” 

“ Never.” 

“But that power always gave you a salary?” 


AT VIKCENNES AND MALMAISON. 


433 


It is my sole support.” 

“ Did you maintain a correspondence with the French 
princes who had gone to London ?” 

“ Naturally, I corresponded with my grandfather and 
my father, whom I have not seen since 1795.” 

“ What rank did you hold in the army of Conde?” 

“I commanded the vanguard prior to 1796. After- 
ward I served as a volunteer at my grandfather’s 
headquarters. After the passage of the army of 
Conde into Russia, this army having been united into 
two corps, one of infantry and one of dragoons, I was 
made colonel of the latter by the Emperor.” 

“ Have you had any relations with Pichegru?” 

I think I never saw him. I know that he formerly 
wished to see me. I congratulate myself upon not 
having known him, after the base means which I have 
been told he desired to use.” 

“ Have you had any relations with the ex-General 
Dumouriez?” 

“Never.” 

“Since the peace, have you maintained any corre- 
spondence within the Republic?” 

“ I have written to some friends who are still attached 
to me, and served with me, in relation to their affairs 
and my own.” 

“Please sign the ofl&cial report.” 

The prisoner gently pushed off Mohiloff, who, from 
the commencement of this brief examination, had not 
left him, approached the table, read his deposition, and 
affixed his signature to it. 

A few seconds after he lay down again. But sleep 
would not return. From the manner in which the ex- 
amination had been conducted, and its brevity, he 
28 


434 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


inferred that his future judges were resolved upon a 
conviction. What would the sentence be? Imprison- 
ment or death? He hoped that Bonaparte’s cruelty 
would not go so far as to impose lifelong confinement, 
and death wore a smiling face. 

Death ! He had often caught a glimpse of it upon 
battle-fields. He had encountered it at Kissingen, on 
the day when six of his officers and thirty of his men 
had fallen at his side; he had beheld it during the 
retreat of the Austrians beyond the Brenner, a genuine 
disaster; he had elbowed it between Mirzach and 
Illerdissen, when his horse was killed under him. “ Do 
not expose yourself as you are doing, as a hussar,” his 
grandfather had written to him on that occasion. “ It 
is not right for you.” This happened the same day 
that Count de Puymaigre wrote to his mistress the 
letter which fell into the possession of the duke: “I 
think I see him still, small but well-formed, light, with 
the face of a hero and a daredevil, the bearing and 
detail which Frenchmen like, and which he so well 
maintains by his agility, his grace, his brilliant courage, 
lastly by his military talents, to which the Republicans 
themselves do justice.” He had been on such familiar 
terms with death at Oberkambach as to win from 
Lieutenant-Colonel Vieux of the Republican army the 
compliment: “Citizen, you would make an excellent 
Republican!” Death inspired no fear, though he was 
only thirty-two years old and had before him a career 
full of glory and honor. He sat up in bed, smiling. 

But, as if in the midst of a funeral apotheosis, he 
beheld the face of Madame de Rohan-Rochefort, the 
Duchess d’Enghien, his love, his mistress, his wife! 
He recalled the romance of their loves from the day 


AT VINCENNES AND MALMAISON. 


435 


that Cardinal de Rohan blessed them, calling down upon 
their young heads the benedictions of Heaven, to that 
when the consul’s soldiers pitilessly dragged them from 
their quiet retreat at Ettenheim, to separate them prob- 
ably forever. He again saw her elegant, supple figure, 
her fair hair, her large blue eyes, mirroring the purity 
and gentleness of heaven. He heard her voice. .He 
held out his arms, that she might rush into them and 
be clasped to his heart. He sounded the depth of 
the gulf between them, and his courage melted into 
tears. 

At the time love conquered valor in Duke d’En- 
ghien’s heart, there was anxious watching at Mal- 
maison. 

Hitherto the chateau had heard only joyous conver- 
sation or songs of victory when Bonaparte gave enter- 
tainments there or hastened to take refuge beneath its 
roof after some new conquest. The nymphs in its park 
had been waked only by love-speeches or merry excla- 
mations, when Josephine walked there leaning on her 
husband’s arm or the latter played prison-base. That 
night, the little drawing-room, which contained four 
persons, Bonaparte, Josephine, Murat, and Madame de 
Remusat, seemed to be pervaded with an atmosphere of 
depression bordering upon gloom. 

After dinner, during which Bonaparte, absorbed in 
thought, had not opened his lips, while Murat vain- 
ly endeavored to amuse Josephine and Madame de 
Remusat, they entered the drawing-room. Leaving 
the latter to anxious thoughts which they vainly strove 
to conceal by busying themselves with needlework, 
Bonaparte had tried to play a game of chess, and just 
as he was on the point of being defeated by his adver- 


436 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


sary, he abruptly left the room to go to his private office. 
Murat, unable to keep still, had wandered about the 
room two or three times and then went out into the 
garden on the pretext of seeing the effect of the moon- 
light upon two little red marble obelisks, covered with 
gilded hieroglyphics, placed there by Josephine in 
honor of the conqueror of the Nile. Finally, as the 
cold began to be uncomfortable, he returned, just as 
Bonaparte, dreading for the first time the solitude of 
his study, reappeared himself. 

These four persons at Malmaison were burdened by 
the same thought — that of Duke d’Enghien. No one 
dared to be the first to utter the name, yet it was on the 
lips of all. This fear and restraint had lasted until 
midnight, and they were about to retire to rest, when 
Josephine, knowing the value of time and feeling more 
courageous in the presence of witnesses, sat down by 
the general and, in her most earnest and persuasive 
tones, said: 

“ Napoleon, I know, or rather we know, of what you 
are thinking.” 

Murat exchanged glances with Madame de Remusat, 
who laid her finger on her lips. 

“You are thinking, Napoleon, of that unfortunate 
young man.” 

Bonaparte started. 

“ A traitor !” 

“ An unfortunate man,” Josephine continued, “edu- 
cated in principles for which he is not responsible and 
which, though worthy of condemnation, nevertheless 
serve as extenuating circumstances. He is less guilty 
than Louis XVIII., Count d’ Artois, or the Orleans 
Princes. Why should he suffer for them all?” 


AT VlNCEKKES AKD MALMAlSOK-. 437 

“ Because he was the most active, he and his grand- 
father. Ask Murat.” 

Bonaparte glanced at Murat who, with bowed head, 
was mechanically tracing with his finger the gold 
embroidery on his trousers. 

“Well, Murat?” 

“ Citizen Consul ” 

“ You too? Do you pity him?” 

“General ” 

“Answer briefly. Does your pity extend to that 
point?” 

“Well, yes, General! Ido pity him; not that the 
part I am playing in the matter burdens me, I am 
obeying orders ; hut I am a soldier, and I don’t like, 
when the war is over, to have too much resentment 
shown to prisoners.” 

“ Didn’t you have them shot in Egypt?” 

“ In Egypt, I was carried away by the fury of battle, 
which transforms heroes into tigers. It is not the same 
case.” 

“And you, Madame de Remusat?” 

“ I, Citizen Consul, believe that mercy should go hand 
in hand with glory.” 

Bonaparte made an impatient gesture, and, with his 
hands clasped behind his back, resumed his pacing to 
and fro. 

“ All against me ! After the crime of the Rue Saint- 
Nicaise !” 

“ Have you proofs that it was instigated by the duke, 
Napoleon?” 

“ Every one accuses him !” 

“He was accused also of having conspired with 
Dumouriez,” said Madame de Remusat, emboldened. 


438 


THE ROMANCE OE THE SWORI). 


“ He answered the charge when he was examined at 
Strasbourg.” 

“And if he lied!” 

“ A Conde !” 

“Why do you talk to me of Conde? My army is 
filled with them! The Condes are current money at 
this time, when thousands of men have covered them- 
selves with the glory to which you alluded just now, in 
the same breath with Augustus, if I am not mistaken. 
I am not Emperor of Rome.” 

“ You may be so to-morrow.” 

“And Cinna ” 

“Was, like d’Enghien, the grandson of Pompey.” 

Bonaparte stopped and sat down at the end of the room. 

This title of Emperor had just echoed in his ears the 
second time. 

Perceiving that he was yielding, Josephine drew 
nearer, while Murat, enraged with himself for having 
shown less courage than Madame de Remusat, gazed 
through the glass panes of the door at the trees silvered 
by the moonbeams. 

“Napoleon, I know that you are kind, very kind, 
though you do like to pretend to be fierce. After having 
been your Minister of War, Carnot opposed you. You 
avenged yourself by paying his debts. During the 
Italian campaign, Clarke was appointed by the Directory 
to spy upon you. You learned it and avenged yourself 
later by defending him against this very Directory. In 
Egypt Davoust was numbered among your most danger- 
ous foes. Proofs of it were given you. Your revenge 
was to obtain a pension for him. Colonel Poy was 
concerned in the Moreau and Pichegru affair; you 
insisted that he should not leave the army, and you pur- 


AT VINCENNES AND MALMAISON. 439 

sued the same course later with regard to Monsieur de 
Colbert. Bernadette has not ceased to conspire against 
you. In 1802 , he was the soul of the plot in the senate 
for the purpose of overthrowing you. You pardoned 
him, thanks to the intervention of Joseph. When you 
are Emperor these noble deeds will be told ; they will 
become legends and will increase the lustre of your 
crown. And of mine also,” she added, gazing at him 
with the same expression in her eyes which had formerly 
sparkled in those of Our Lady of Thermidor. 

Bonaparte had his own reasons for remaining deaf to 
his wife’s entreaties : the affair of the jewel. The very 
day that he signed the pledge for Samuel he had for- 
given her. As she continued speaking, he felt his 
anger melt. Besides, was he not sufficiently revenged 
on the duke by depriving him of the sword? Had not 
the latter purchased his life, if not his liberty, by 
furnishing him the opportunity of regaining possession 
of a talisman? 

Josephine took his hand. 

‘‘ I beseech you !” 

“General,” interposed Madame de Remusat, “will 
you resist so many arguments?” 

Bonaparte sought a final counsel in Murat’s bearing. 

The latter had left the door and advanced several 
paces toward him. His anxiety revealed his opinion. 
He was about to speak, when the aide on duty entered 
and, holding out a letter, said : 

“ General, excuse me. It is sent from Vincennes and 
is marked ‘urgent.’” 

Bonaparte hurriedly broke the seal. 

It contained the Duke d’Enghien’s request to have a 
last interview with the First Consul. 


440 THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 

After a final hesitation, when the officer had left the 
room, he said : 

“ Murat, the duke desires an interview with me. Has 
the court-martial been formed?” 

“Yes, General. It is to meet to-morrow for the final 
decision.” 

“ Who compose it?” 

“General Hulin is president.” 

“And the others?” 

“Colonel Guitton, who commands the 1st regiment 
of cuirassiers; Colonel Bazancourt, Colonel Ravier, 
Colonel Barrois, Colonel Rabbe. Lastly Dautancourt, 
who will perform the duties of judge advocate.” 

“All loyal soldiers?” 

“Thoroughly loyal in heart and soul.” 

“ And it is at midnight ” 

“That military justice will pronounce sentence.” 

“ Murat, at ten o’clock to-morrow evening, there must 
be no sentinels at the main entrance of the chateau. 
Tell Commandant Hurel that I desire the officers and 
men to remain in their quarters.” 

“ May I ask your reasons for such orders. General?” 

“ Because I wish to stand face to face with Conde’s 
grandson and show him how Bonaparte avenges himself 
on his most cruel enemies.” 

Murat could not repress a sigh of relief, Madame de 
Remusat was about to throw herself at the First 
Consul’s feet to thank him, but she was anticipated 
by Josephine, who kissed her husband’s hands, mur- 
muring : 

“If I ever give you a son, Napoleon, God will bless 
him in return for your generosity.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

IN THE devil’s TOWER. 

On the 30th Venfcose, in the year XII., at nine o’clock 
in the evening, the chateau of Vincennes loomed dimly 
through a darkness so great that a bat which had ven- 
tured out of its hole could scarcely have found the way 
back. 

Ever and anon a gust of wind, sweeping from the 
east, brought with it an icy rain whose fine penetrating 
drops fell steadily enough to transform the earth into a 
sticky mud. 

Absolute silence pervaded the chateau. According 
to the First Consul’s order, the guard had been with- 
drawn from the main entrance, and the officers com- 
manded to remain in their quarters were asleep. 

At ten o’clock precisely, a carriage stopped and the 
governor rushed to meet it. 

Two men left the equipage : Bonaparte and Murat. 

After ordering the driver to wait, Bonaparte entered, 
followed by Murat and preceded by Commandant Hurel. 

“A dismal night,” said Bonaparte, with his hands 
thrust into the pockets of a long overcoat. “ What is 
the prisoner doing?” 

‘‘Awaiting his sentence with perfect calmness.” 

“ An excess of courage or of confidence?” 

“Both courage and confidence. Citizen Consul.” 

At that moment Bonaparte stopped. 

441 


442 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


‘^What is yonder light?” 

“ It is in the xoom to which I have just transferred 
the prisoner in order that his interview with you, Citi- 
zen Consul, should have every chance of remaining 
secret. ” 

“ What do you call the tower in which the room is 
situated?” 

“The Devil’s Tower.” 

“ I remember now. The Devil’s Tower, the Tower 
of the Salutes, the Queen’s Pavilion. We learned it at 
Brienne. The Devil’s Tower !” 

He stopped and gazed at the light a short time. 

By one of those swift returns to the past, so frequent 
among thinkers, the consul remembered the lamp which 
lighted his evenings when he was a lieutenant at 
Auxerre. It burned with an equally dim and flickering 
light. Yet it illumined a radiant future. 

“It is raining harder. Citizen Consul,” said the com- 
mandant. 

“ Pshaw ! Murat and I have been in many other 
storms.” 

Then giving a different turn to the conversation, as 
he moved on, he added : 

“ The duke’s examination did not testify in his favor. 
What does the commission think of it?” 

“ The opinion seems to be that the prisoner has de- 
served punishment.” 

“Ah!” said Bonaparte, pausing again, though the 
rain was pouring furiously. “ That is the opinion of 
the commission? I’ll see presently whether it is mine. 
Eh, Murat?” 

But for the darkness, Bonaparte might have seen the 
look Murat darted at the governor. 


IK THE devil’s TOWER. 


443 


“Here it is, Citizen Consul.” 

They had reached the foot of the Devil’s Tower. 

Continuing to lead the way, Commandant Hurel en- 
tered and lighted a lantern, which cast its rays upon a 
sort of vestibule, whose walls were oozing with mois- 
ture. Then he went up a narrow winding staircase, 
telling the visitors to be careful of the steps, most of 
which had become separated. 

“ There it is. Citizen Consul. ” 

“Knock, Commandant. Go in and announce me. 
You will wait for me below, Murat, to receive my 
orders. Knock louder. I believe he is asleep. Has he 
a dog to guard him?” 

“We did not think it our duty ” 

“ You were right.” 

The door opened. The governor entered and told the 
duke that the First Consul was waiting until he could 
receive him. 

The prisoner hastily put on the olive surtout in 
which he had made the journey from Strasbourg to 
Paris. 

“You will request General Bonaparte to pardon the 
negligence of my toilet. It is partly his fault that I 
am obliged to do the honors of my room in travelling 
costume.” 

A minute after the captive and his real judge were 
face to face. 

Mohiloff, obedient to a sign from his master, had 
stretched himself under the bedstead. 

The duke and Bonaparte remained silent a few 
seconds. 

The duke was in the presence of the man who, for 
twelve years, had filled the universe with his name. 


444 


THE KOMAKCE OE THE SWORD. 


the hero of Toulon, Italy, and Egypt; the successful 
politician of Brumaire; the skilful negotiator of the 
treaties of Luneville and Amiens. It would have re- 
quired less to awe a prince thirty-two years old if, in his 
eyes, the Bonaparte of Toulon, Montenotte, Millesimo, 
Mondovi, Rivoli, Areola, Marengo, had not suddenly 
become the instigator of the ambuscade of Ettenheim. 

The First Consul confronted the last Conde. In 
spite of himself, and without resistance on his part, a 
touch of compassion seized him, proceeding from the 
natural apprehension which makes us see our foe under 
an aspect totally different from his real one. He had 
imagined the duke’s face less youthful, his personal 
appearance less attractive. He was beginning to thank 
Josephine mentally for her persistence, when the 
prisoner, fearing that Bonaparte might assert his supe- 
riority by examining him, began : 

“ General, I have to thank you for granting my 
request. I cherish no illusions concerning the inde- 
pendence of my yesterday’s examiners, nor that of those 
who will soon be my judges. But ere atoning for a 
crime which I have not committed, I desire to protest 
before my accuser, as I have done before his officers, 
and shall do, before I die, in the presence of his valets.” 

As he uttered these words which, under the circum- 
stances, became a bravado and defiance, the prisoner’s 
face assumed a haughty, insolent expression. 

It was Conde speaking to the man whom the royalists 
called the Corsican adventurer. 

Bonaparte was bewildered, like a lion whom a hunter 
should be bold enough to chastise by a kick. Then, 
flushing under the insult and already forgetful of what 
he had promised, he replied : 


IK THE devil’s TOWER. 


445 


“ Monsieur, your temerity may cost you dear. Your 
yesterday’s examiners, like the judges who await you, 
are men devoted to the party which I represent, and 
especially to that France which you and yours, after 
having delivered it to anarchy by saving yourselves, 
have had the sorrowful courage to fight with arms in 
your hands. The valets are on the side of those who 
have not feared to wear by turns all liveries: those of 
Austria, Prussia, Russia, England! And on the side 
of those who do not blush to confess it, as you did 
yesterday by permitting us to prove that you lived on 
English money.” 

“ To affirm a legitimate right.” 

“ There is no longer a legitimate right. The people 
alone command here. If they have driven forth your 
king, bold enough to think that he could bu}’ me ; your 
princes, forgetful enough of their name and some of 
their glory to take their places among our worst 
enemies, it is because they have felt the necessity of 
having done with a past forever dishonored, to give the 
country new institutions, to trust themselves to a soldier 
who at least has understood how to raise the nation in 
the eyes of all Europe. We are both young. Monsieur, 
I being scarcely three years your senior, but I have the 
experience of self-made men, and you know in what 
times of disturbances and wars; let me advise you to 
lower a pride which awes no one, especially when, as 
in your case, nothing has been done to justify it. On 
this condition, I will consent to hear you, and, if I 
really have any influence upon the decision of your 
judges ” 

“ To make me an example of your generosity?” 

“ If that were so?” 


446 


THE KOMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


“ I should refuse.” 

“ Take care ! In responding to your appeal, I came 
resolved to exercise clemency.” 

“ What clemency do I need?” 

“ That which conspirators and traitors need !” 

“ And which a violator of territory and a thief of a 
sword would not know how to bestow.” 

Mohiloff, hearing their voices raised, lifted his head, 
which had been resting on his paws. 

Under the lash of this second insult, Bonaparte sprang 
forward to the duke, to whose side the dog had instantly 
leaped. 

The consul remembered that he was in the presence 
of a defenceless man, a prisoner awaiting trial. Mak- 
ing a violent effort, he controlled himself. 

The duke, with folded arms, gazed steadily into his 
face, and Mohiloff returned to his former position. 

Bonaparte was the first to speak. 

“ The sword to which you alluded was given me by 
Count d’Availlac— — ” 

“ An assassin ” 

“ A lover of justice. He paid the Jew Samuel for 
it in ready money, in order to give it nobler work than 
d’ Artois would have made it perform.” 

“Perhaps the Empress Catharine had also preserved 
it that the gem adorning the hilt might some day serve 
for an ornament for Citizeness Bonaparte?” 

“You are well informed for an emigrant!” 

“ Sufficiently so to be aware for what shameful traffic 
the jewel was used.” 

The duke paused abruptly ; the last words had escaped 
his lips unintentionally. He already regretted them, 
for they compromised a woman. 


THE devil’s tower. 


447 


Bonaparte knew that the prisoner could not be cog- 
nizant of the agreement made with Samuel. 

In that case, what calumny did the allusion contain? 
He was determined to know. 

“ Monsieur, if you were not my prisoner, I would 
call upon you to explain yourself instantly. But at 
present you are. So I beg you to speak more plainly.” 

Then as the Duke d’Enghien still stood silent in 
speechless embarrassment, he continued : 

“ Now I require it.” 

The rain continued to fall, and the wind, sweeping 
through the stairway of the Devil’s Tower, wailed 
mournfully. 

“And if I should refuse?” 

“ I should accuse you of taking advantage of your 
position to venture a slander and commit a dastardly 
act !” 

“ I shall avoid having you bring the charge by advis- 
ing you to conjure up the memory of the first victim 
of the ambush at Ettenheim: the hapless Hippolyte 
Charles.” 

General Bonaparte was familiar with the pangs of 
jealousy. He had suffered from them after his depar- 
ture to Italy. One day, having broken Josephine’s 
portrait, which he wore on his person, he said to Mar- 
mont: “ Marmont, my wife is either ill or faithless.” 
He had suffered when, a victorious general, she would 
not join him as he entreated her to do. He had suffered 
when he wrote from Verona, on the 13th of November, 
1796: “I no longer love you at all. On the contrary, 
you are an ugly, awkward, stupid woman. Who can 
this wonderful lover be who absorbs your every 
moment, rules over all your days, and prevents you 


448 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


from thiuking of your husband? Take care, Josephine ! 
Some fine night the doors will be forced open, and I 
shall appear.” 

He had suffered when he wrote to his brother 
Joseph: “I have many domestic troubles.” He had 
suffered when, on his return from Egypt, he found no 
one at his home in the Rue Chantereine, and when 
Josephine returned, he informed her of his formal 
intention of divorcing her. But never had he suffered 
so much as at that moment, when the grandson of 
Conde, his bitter enemy, recalled a name whose syn- 
onyms might be treason and adultery. 

At this hour he would risk nothing by driving the 
prisoner to his last entrenchments. They were alone ; 
the duke’s words, whether slanders or revelations, 
would not go beyond the walls of the Devil’s Tower. 
His shame or his suffering would have but a single 
witness, and this witness was at his mercy. 

He made a superhuman effort to appear calm. 

“And what connection can there be between that 
oflScer, destitute of reputation, loaded with debts, and a 
traitor into the bargain, and the jewel in question?” 

“ General ” 

“Answer.” 

“ General ” 

“ Answer, I tell you, or I shall believe that you are 
confounding the wife of General Bonaparte with your 
court coquettes.” 

“The court coquettes. General, are at least skilful 
enough not to make a Jew the confidant of their love 
affairs, and are not reduced to bartering their wedding 
ornaments for the letters they have written to their 
lovers !” 


IN THE devil’s tower. 


449 


The rays of the lamp which lighted the apartment 
were too dim and flickering for the duke to perceive the 
livid pallor of the. First Consul. He divined the pain 
of the blow dealt, however, by the silence which 
followed it. In an instant Bonaparte had recalled the 
past history of his love, his conversation with Samuel, 
and the truth, the truth which he had always refused 
to recognize, appeared in all its frightful nudity. 

And this very Josephine was about to become 
empress ! 

Mohiloff had approached his master who, prepared 
for anything, patted the animal. 

General Bonaparte knew enough — too much. Cast- 
ing one last glance at the duke, he went out, closed the 
door, went down the staircase, and said to Murat, who 
stood waiting : 

‘‘ Murat ! at dawn to-morrow that man must be life- 
less !” 


CHAPTER X. 


THE EXECUTION. 

It was one o’clock in the morning when the First 
Consul entered his carriage and drove back to Mal- 
maison. 

While the future Emperor, struggling against the 
anguish of a bleeding wound, was borne onward as fast 
as his horses would gallop, four gendarmes entered the 
room occupied by the prisoner and conducted him before 
the court-martial. 

The president said : 

“Judge-advocate, please state that the prisoner was 
brought before us free and without fetters. Having 
made this statement, you will read aloud the documents 
both for and against the prisoner, classed by a first 
examination. ” 

The judge-advocate read : 

“The government has brought against the accused 
Henri de Bourbon, Duke d’Enghien, the following 
indictment: 

“ The prisoner is charged with having borne arms 
against the Republic; with having accepted English 
pay, with having shared in the plots woven against 
the internal and external safety of the Republic.” 

“Prisoner,” said General Hulin, “what have you to 
answer to the charges brought against you?” 

450 


THE EXECUTION. 


451 


The duke smiled, and glanced slowly at each member 
of the court-martial. 

General Hulin bore the gaze. 

Colonels Guiton and Bazan court defied it. 

Colonels Rassier, Barrios, and Rabbe pretended to read 
their notes. 

“ I deny the charge of having been concerned directly 
or indirectly in a conspiracy against the life of the First 
Consul. I confess having maintained the rights of my 
family and, my birth and opinions rendering me forever 
the enemy of your government, I will add that a Conde 
could return to France only with arms in his hands.” 

“You have asserted ignorance of what was occurring 
in France. Not only the country where you lived, but 
the whole world, was aware of it!” 

“ Learning that war was declared against France, I 
applied to England for a place in her armies; the 
English government replied that it could give me none ; 
but that I must remain on the Rhine, where I should 
constantly have a part to play. I waited.” 

“That is sufficient. Gendarmes, take the prisoner 
back.” 

The clock struck half -past one. 

After the First Consul’s visit, the duke should have 
had no farther doubt concerning his fate, if hope were 
not the supreme delusion of those condemned to death. 

Once alone, he took Mohiloff on his lap, embraced 
him as his last friend, and reflected upon the probable 
length of the exile which he expected. 

Meanwhile the governor had waked a man named 
Bonnelet, a day-laborer employed at the castle. 

“Bonnelet, I must have a grave dug at once.” 

“Where?” 


452 


THE EOMAHCEOF THE SWORD. 


In the courtyard,” 

“ That will be difficult.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it is paved.” 

“ And we are in a hurry. Then at the foot of the 
Queen’s Pavilion.” 

“ The earth is moist and will be easily worked.” 

“ How much time -will it require?” 

“ Half an hour.” 

“ Go and be quick.” 

At quarter-past two o’clock, the Duke d’Enghien, 
yielding for the second time to emotion and fatigue, 
was just falling asleep, when for the second time his door 
opened, admitting Commandant Hurel and a corporal. 

The duke had lain down completely dressed. 

He rose slowly, and said to the commandant : 

“Where do you mean to take me? To a dungeon? 
I might as well die.” 

“ Monsieur, have the kindness to follow me, and sum- 
mon all your courage.” 

“ I understand.” 

The duke buttoned his surtout and put on his cap. 

The commandant led the way with his lantern, 
descended the winding staircase, crossed the drawbridge 
which separated the Devil’s Tower from the moat, went 
down seven steps more, passed the Tower of the Salutes, 
and stopped at the foot of the Queen’s Pavilion. 

The prisoner had no opportunity to deceive himself. 
A man who is about to die has a specially keen per- 
ception, and the duke could distinguish in the darkness 
the platoon of soldiers and the new-made grave. 

The corporal conducted the duke to the wall of the 
pavilion and placed him with his back against it. 


THE EXECUTIOl^". 


453 


The adjutant, by the light of the governor’s lantern, 
read the death-sentence before the platoon composed of 
sixteen picked gendarmes. 

When he had finished, the duke turned to the officer 
commanding the platoon. 

“ Lieutenant, 1 have one last service to ask.” 

“Speak, Monsieur.” 

“ Have you a pair of scissors?” 

“ No.” 

“ Perhaps one of your men has?” 

“ I will inquire.” 

A moment after, the lieutenant returned with the 
scissors. 

The duke flung his cap at his feet, cut off a lock of 
his hair, removed his gold ring and, wrapping them in 
a bit of paper, said : 

“ I rely upon your integrity. Monsieur, to forward 
these two mementoes to the Princess de Rohan-Roche- 
fort.” 

“ I give you my word of honor.” 

“I thank you. Governor, one word more.” 

“And that. Monsieur le Due?” 

“Will you not give me a priest?” 

“We have no priest in the fort.” 

“I regret it, sir. But I submit.” 

He knelt in the mud so near the grave that he might 
easily have fallen into it. Then, after a brief prayer, 
he rose, saying : 

“ I am ready, Monsieur. My keenest grief is that I 
die murdered by Frenchmen.” 

The adjutant, following a preconcerted signal, raised 
his hand to his hat. 

The sixteen gendarmes took aim. Though only five 


454 


THE ROMANCE OF THE SWORD. 


paces from their victim, it was so dark that they could 
scarcely see him. 

The adjutant, having called this to the attention of 
the governor, the latter set his lantern at the feet of 
Conde’s grandson. 

The adjutant saluted. 

Sixteen balls pierced the heart of the condemned man, 
who fell lifeless. It was three o’clock in the morning. 

The corpse was stripped of its clothing and laid face 
downward in the grave ; the platoon of soldiers marched 
off, and the laborers filled the hole. 

Half an hour after, the chateau of Vincennes was 
disturbed only by plaintive howls. Mohiloff, stretched 
on the new-made mound, was mourning his master. 


CHAPTER XI. 


. EMPEROR ! 

“ Come, Pichoux, are you ready at last?” 

Madame Pichoux cast a final glance at her mirror. 
She looked very charming in a big Swiss straw-bonnet 
with a projecting brim, lined with green silk and 
trimmed with little pink bows; a long salmon-colored 
silk dress strewn with tiny bouquets of roses ; a dress over 
which she had carelessly draped a black silk shawl; 
and gilt slippers fastened by ribbons, which wound 
around her ankles, defining them. She was especially 
charming because she was happy, and happiness is the 
most becoming thing in the world to a woman. She 
was both happy and proud to think that the man on 
whose brow the Pope was about to place the imperial 
crown was the same who had once deigned to number 
himself among her customers, the same whom she had 
served in the Rue des Marais. If a little shame blended 
with these emotions, it was at the thought that she had 
dared to love an emperor. 

“Pichoux, if you are not ready, I shall go alone.” 

“ It isn’t six o’clock in the morning !” 

“ Which doesn’t change the fact that grenadiers, 
mounted chasseurs, and infantry have been marching 
past for two hours. I suppose they know what they 
are about as well as you do.” 

Pichoux had put on his Sunday clothes. He shared 
455 


456 


THE EOMAHCE OF THE SWOKD. 


Madame Pichoux’s curiosity, but not her enthusiasm ; 
for he no longer cherished any delusions. Since the 
First Consul had forgotten to give him any appointment 
whatever, the Emperor Napoleon would not remember 
it. The only advantage to be derived from the event 
would be the opportunity to say that the sauces of the 
Three Mile-Stones had been tasted by the future Caesar, 
and perhaps to put up a sign on the front of the 
establishment, bearing the words: “Ex-Purveyor to 
General Bonaparte.” 

“I am ready, Madame Pichoux.” 

Both went out through the low door, the Three Mile- 
stones being closed until four o’clock. Madame Pi- 
choux ran like a boarding-school girl on vacation. 
Pichoux was calmer. In the first place it did not 
suit his dignity to display exaggerated eagerness con- 
cerning a man who, though he had gained the battle of 
Marengo, had nevertheless displayed unpardonable in- 
gratitude ; lastly because Madame Pichoux’s haste had 
awakened a suspicion in his mind. Could she be still in 
love? Occasionally he even feigned indifference, stop- 
ping and looking at trifles, and answering his wife’s 
urging with : 

“ Bless me, there are other things as absorbing as a 
coronation !” 

They went toward Notre -Dame, the Emperor having 
remembered his friends and sent them two invitations. 

The day promised to be beautiful. The sky was 
already blue, and the sun was diffusing his rays over it 
like a golden dust. The streets, notwithstanding the 
early hour, were thronged with curious spectators, all 
moving toward the same goal. From time to time the 
noise of the throng blended with the roll of drums, the 


emperor! 


457 


blare of clarions and trumpets, and military music. 
The regiments marched by in full uniform with banners 
waving. When they had passed, street cries rose above 
the din, — the shouts of distributors of programmes and 
venders of cantatas : 

“Ask for the March of the Procession.” 

“The official programme of the ceremony of the 
Coronation.” 

“The Ode to Napoleon^ by Monsieur Felix No- 
garet.” 

“Read the full account of what will occur on the 
occasion of the coronation of His Majesty the Emperor 
Napoleon I.” 

“ Napoleon at Notre Dame, a cantata by Monsieur 
Fermiere, music by an ex-fifer from Italy.” 

“ The official copy of the book of the Grand Master of 
Ceremonies.” 

The crowd increased as it grew later, and became 
more and mgre motley and noisy. The common people 
were joined by the middle classes and the members of 
the nobility. It was evident that the desire to behold a 
unique spectacle was not the sole motive which impelled 
every one toward the spot that was to be the scene of 
the spectacle; they were also prompted by a spirit of 
patriotism. The universal thought was that too much 
honor could nof be bestowed upon the great man who, 
after having coped with anarchy, was now the sole 
rampart against the Coalition. The European nations 
believed themselves superior to the French, because they 
had a monarch. Well! The French would have an 
emperor. 

It would only be necessary to go back a few years to 
show how inconsistent and variable is opinion. That 


458 


THE ROMAKCE OF THE SWORD. 


is apparently the reason that symbolists represent it 
under the guise of a young woman. 

The throng poured on, becoming more motley and 
noisy. Along the route which the emperor was to follow 
from the Tuileries to the archbishop’s, the soldiers had 
hard work to keep back the inhabitants crowding the 
sidewalks, to the amusement of the people on the bal- 
conies and at the windows, who comfortably watched 
the movements of the throng. Sometimes cheers burst 
forth and the multitude voluntarily scattered to admit 
a wounded soldier to the front rank. He had had the 
suffering, and surely he deserved the honor. Some, to 
while away the time, sang the Marseillaise. 

The square of Notre-Dame, where the proprietors of 
the Three Mile-Stones had just arrived, was black with 
people except in the portions kept free by the troops : 
roads cut in a living soil and set with bayonets. The 
light from above, growing more intense, made the 
uniforms glitter and the weapons flash. 

Madame Pichoux showed the two cards, which gave 
her a right to admission, to an officer, who looked more 
closely at her than at what she held in her hand. In 
spite of Pichoux he even ventured upon a compliment. 
Madame Pichoux did not hear him, being absorbed by 
thoughts of Charlotte and Robert, for the officer wore 
on his collar the number of the regiment to which her 
former protege had belonged. 

A distant murmur rose, blended with the beating of 
drums and the sound of clarions. The Emperor had 
left the Tuileries. The procession was moving. It 
came nearer, glittering in the sunlight, a mass of 
diamonds, gold aigrettes, weapons, equipages, capar- 
isoned horses, rich uniforms, and superb costumes. 


emperor! 


459 


Mounted heralds-at-arms. 

The carriages of the master and assistant masters of 
ceremonies. 

Those of the officers of the Empire, the ministers, the 
grand-chamberlain, the grand-equerry, the arch-chan- 
cellor, the arch-treasurer. 

The carriage of the princesses. 

The imperial carriage, containing the Emperor, the 
Empress, the Princes Joseph and Louis, drawn by eight 
white horses, with gold harnesses, led by the bridle. 

The carriages of the grand-armorer, the marshal of 
the palace, the master of the hounds, the lady-of- 
honor, the lady of the bedchamber, the first equerry 
and first chamberlain of the Empress, the civil officers 
of the Emperor and the Empress. 

Behind them came the marshal commanding the 
gendarmes. 

Closing the procession were the mounted grenadiers 
of the guard, platoons of mounted gunners, and a 
squadron of picked gendarmes, among whom — a strange 
accident — were the sixteen men who had fired upon 
Duke d’Enghien. 

On reaching the square, the procession stopped at the 
left of the entrance. 

The Emperor and Empress went to the archbishop’s, 
where they put on their robes of state. 

Below the entrance, mounted on a post, an old man 
clung to a statue of Saint Paul, whose head had been 
broken during the Revolution. 

It was Samuel. 

He wanted to see with his own eyes the Emperor who 
would soon summon the great Sanhedrim. Standing 
on tiptoe he, the renovator of an old religion, seemed to 


460 


THE EOMAKCE OF THE SWOED. 


be striving to rise to the height of him who propagated 
the new one. 

There was another movement. 

The procession, starting from the archbishop’s, con- 
tinued its march. 

The Emperor and Empress advanced on foot, preceded 
by the ushers, heralds-at-arms, pages, and assistant 
masters of ceremonies: Marshal Serurier, bearing on 
a cushion the Empress’ ring ; Marshal Moncey , holding 
the basket intended to receive the Empress’ mantle; 
Marshal Murat, carrying on a cushion the Empress’ 
crown; Marshal Kellermann, bearing the crown of 
Charlemagne; Marshal Perignon, carrying the sceptre 
of Charlemagne; Marshal Lefebvre, supporting the 
sword of Charlemagne; Marshal Bernadette, carrying 
the Emperor’s collar; Colonel-General Beauharnais, 
holding His Majesty’s ring ; Marshal Berthier, bearing 
the globe ; the grand chamberlain, carrying the basket 
destined to receive the Emperor’s mantle. 

“There they are, Pichoux!” 

Their Majesties having reached the doorway, a cardi- 
nal offered the holy water to the Empress, the Archbishop 
of Paris presented it to the Emperor ; then the two prel- 
ates conducted the imperial pair under a canopy borne 
by canons to the thrones placed in the choir between the 
fifth and sixth pillars, equidistant from the church and 
the high altar. 

The crowded cathedral glowed with the blaze of 
candles, blended with the hues of the stained -glass 
windows, through which the sun was shining. Behind 
the choir rose a strain of exquisite music. 

The Emperor sat down, surrounded by the colonels, 
generals of the guard, the grand marshal of the palace. 


EMPEROR ! 


461 


the grand chamberlain, ministers, marshals, grand 
master of ceremonies, chief of the heralds-at-arms, 
senators, chevaliers, treasurer, praetors, legislators, 
members of the Court of Appeal, commissioners of 
general accounts, generals of division, presidents and 
attorneys-general of Courts of Appeal, presidents of 
the electoral colleges of departments, maritime pre- 
fects, prefects of departments, presidents and attorneys- 
general of criminal courts, generals of brigade, presi- 
dents of councils-general, sub-prefects, mayors of the 
thirty-six principal cities, presidents of cantons, presi- 
dents of consistories, and presidents of chambers of 
commerce. 

The princesses were grouped around the Empress 
and behind her were the ladies-in-waiting, ladies of 
the bedchamber, and ladies of the palace. 

A voice rose — that of the Pope, intoning the Veni 
Creator. 

When it was over the Grand Almoner of France and 
the first French Cardinal went to their Majesties, 
bowed low before them, and led them to the foot of the 
altar to receive the holy oil upon their heads and hands. 

The Pope blessed the crowns of the Emperor and 
Empress, their mantles and their rings. 

The Empress kneeling received the crown. 

The Emperor impatiently took it from the Pope’s 
hands and placed it on his own head. 

The Pope was disconcerted for an instant, then in a 
firm voice said : 

“Omnipotent and eternal God, who didst appoint 
Hazael to be king over Syria, and Jehu to be king over 
Israel, making known thy will to them through the 
voice of the prophet Elias ; who didst pour the holy oil 


462 


THE KOMAHCE OF THE SWOKD. 


of kings upon the head of Saul and of David, send 
down through my hands the treasures of thy grace and 
of thy blessings upon thy servant Napoleon, whom, in 
spite of our own unworthiness, we consecrate to-day as 
Emperor in thy name.” 

The Pope went on with the mass. 

At the close of the Gospel, the grand master of 
ceremonies invited the grand almoner, by a bow, to go 
to the altar. 

The latter, having received the Gospel, carried it to 
their Majesties to kiss. 

At the offertory, the grand master of ceremonies 
invited them to present their offerings. 

Five ladies of the palace went forward, bearing two 
candles incrusted with thirteen gold coins, the silver 
loaf, the gold loaf, and the vase. 

The Emperor and Empress followed them, knelt at 
the foot of the altar, and returned to their places. 

At the elevation of the Host, the great elector removed 
the Emperor’s crown; the maid of honor the Em- 
press’. 

At the Agnus Dei the great elector went to receive 
from the Pope the kiss of peace cum instrumento 
pacts, which he bore to their Majesties. 

At the time of communion, the great elector and the 
lady-in-waiting removed for the second time the crowns 
replaced upon the august heads after the Agnus Dei. 

At the end of the mass, the grand almoner, at a sign 
from the grand master of ceremonies, again brought the 
Gospels to the Emperor and stood at his left hand. The 
president of the Senate and the president of the Legis- 
lative Corps brought to their Majesties the formula 
of the constitutional oath, which Napoleon repeated. 


EMPEKOR ! 


463 


Then, by the order of the grand master, the chief of 
the herald-at-arms said in a loud voice : 

“ The very glorious and very august Emperor Napo- 
leon, Emperor of the French, is crowned and throned. 
Long live the Emperor I” 

Thousand of voices again rose: 

“ Long live the Emperor !” 

“Long live the Empress!” 

The secretary of state recorded the taking of the 
oath by the Emperor; the great elector summoned 
the presidents of the Senate, the Legislative Corps, 
and the Tribunate to sign it. The arch-chancellor 
presented it for the signature of the Emperor, the 
princes, and the great dignitaries; the secretary of 
state had it signed by the great officers of the Empire; 
the arch-chancellor affixed his own name. 

Meanwhile in the square outside a scuffle had occurred, 
owing to the backing of a trumpeter’s horse. 

The most sensible spectators vainly urged coolness; 
the panic constantly increased. 

Suddenly a cry of pain was heard. 

A space was cleared around the person who had 
uttered it. The man, no longer supported, tottered and 
fell, murmuring: 

“ Long live the Republic !” 

It was Caligula. 

At that moment, within Notre-Dame, like an answer 
to this last echo of an epoch already distant, they began 
to sing the Te Deum. 


THE END. 


FRENCH REVOLUTIONARY CALENDAR. 


Vendemiaire, 

. Sept. 22d to Oct. 21st. 

Brumaire, 

. Oct. 22d to Nov. 20th. 

Frimaire, 

. Nov. 21st to Dec. 20th. 

Nivose, 

. Dec. 21st to Jan. 19th. 

Pluviose, 

. Jan. 20th to Feb. 19th. 

Ventose, 

. Feb. 19th to Mar. 20th. 

Germinal, 

. Mar. 21st to April 19th. 

Floreal, 

. April 20th to May 15th. 

Prairial, 

, May 20th to June 18th. 

Messidor, 

. June 19th to July 18th. 

Thermidor, . 

. July 19th to Aug. 17th. 

Fructidor, 

. Aug. 18th to Sept. 16th. 

The five days intervening between Sept. 16th and Sept. 


were dedicated respectively to the Feasts of the Virtues, Genius, 
Labor, Opinion, and Rewards. 


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